


Honor's Trial

by Luke_Danger



Category: For Honor (Video Game)
Genre: Battlefield, Canon Compliant, Gen, Introspection, Knights - Freeform, Vikings, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 178,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16159919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luke_Danger/pseuds/Luke_Danger
Summary: Wardens - sworn to fight for peace in defense of the weak, revered by the Legions yet fallen to dust. The few left constantly find their ability and willingness to honor their oaths challenged. And for Joyeuse Maylis, a brash young Warden eager to prove herself, the Blackstone Legion and where it led her would be that trial.





	1. The Wrong Warlord

"I don't care about Harrowgate, we have our own problems!"

That was the moment she understood that she was serving the wrong warlord.

"We're _Wardens_ , Lord Daubeny," Joyeuse snarled as she slammed her fists into the table between them, shaking the wine bottle that was sitting on it. "We're sworn to defend our people!"

"Yes, and my people are here!" The warlord pushed himself up, pointing to the shields that lined his quarters. "See those? Those are the shields of all the owners the last ten years - Westhold Castle has not seen the stability it deserves, the stability _I_ will provide it!"

"So you said," she retorted as she looked at the shields - Legion and Warborn pattern alike - then to her present employer's sun emblemized shield that took the last spot. "But who are you afraid of?"

"Jealous rivals! The Regals were first defeated by the Greycloak Legion after all, who then were destroyed by the Warlord Stigandr, who abandoned the fortress to…"

"So was that why a Blackstone emissary came in yesterday? What did you do to antagonize…"

"Enough questions!" Daubeny bellowed, "You swore to the contract, one Warden to another, do you hold our oaths so lightly Joyeuse Maylis?"

Joyeuse glanced down to the Warden's shield strapped over Daubeny's chest, bronzed like the rest of his armor and with a skull engraving. _This is why we've fallen to dust,_ she thought as she took a step back.

"No, but we are sworn to defend our people. All of them."

"And if you run off to Harrowgate, a two day's march each way, you will fail that oath should I come under attack here! The Iron Legion has held Harrowgate even when the Vikings were raiding this far south, they will hold this season." He rested his hands on his waist and looked to the door. "Now then, you have your duties to tend to today. I suggest you see to them."

Gritting her teeth, she bowed her head and he dismissed her with a wave. As she strode through the mostly bare halls towards her chambers, she passed by several guards. They were hardly the stuff of legend - mercenaries or household warriors who had served with Daubeny before, ex-legionnaires, and outside local levies were being trained up to serve in the conflict that would inevitably come. She had fought alongside worse fighters, but those village militia at least had the good cause of not being victim to a roving band of mercenaries that took to pillage.

The smaller men at arms - and this was a statement of physical size rather than standing - greeted her as she passed and she returned the greetings half-heartedly, her warlord's words troubling her. She had come to Ashfeld to seek a worthy cause, and Westhold was on the southern border. Daubeny had hired her last winter with a seasonal mercenary contract - the same kind he offered all his soldiers - and she had accepted hoping it would get her into Ashfeld.

"I should've listened to the sellswords," she muttered as she remembered the warnings that the veterans had given her that night in the tavern. They told her that in Ashfeld when a lord at peace only hired seasonally, he was expecting something he may not be able to win and did not want lingering debts after slinking away. But she had allowed the fact that he was a Warden blind her to the possibility that he did not live up to the ideal. After all, what were sworn brothers and sisters for if not helping each other in times of need?

Pushing open the wooden door to her room, she looked around. It was small, but compared to the common barracks most of the foot soldiers shared was a luxury. A benefit of being a knight… even if not sworn to a legion like a true knight was supposed to be. Shaking her head, she made her way to the dresser and opened it, revealing her partial plate armor.

As she armed herself for the day's duties, she thought back to the path that had led her here. Almost two years of freelancing in assorted conflicts, and never finding a legion to serve. Most were because the lord was unworthy of a Warden's service, or they were too close to home for Joy to linger.

And now she was stuck serving another petty warlord, at least until the season was over and the contract ended. Was this what she was looking at for her life, fighting for causes that under all the shining armor amounted to different warlords wanting what others had and the willingness to spend lives to take it?

"Stop thinking that Joy," she muttered to herself as she held her helmet's lamellated back plates down so it did not catch her braid as she pulled it on. "A Warden shouldn't be looking for glory…"

But as she let go of the helmet plates, she looked down at the shield strapped around her chest, on her left side. Her Warden's shield had been engraved with a roaring lion, supposedly to symbolize the bravery that she had shown during her trials. Now she had to wonder if it was roaring out of frustration rather than pride of its duty.

Shaking her head, she made her way to the armory to get a longsword since she no longer had her own. Another day, another boring wait and maybe dealing with the odd dispute… or maybe whatever Daubeny feared would finally attack. It would not be a fight to be proud of, but at least then she could get some answers…

XXXXXXX

"My lord."

An hour's march from Westhold Castle, a balding knight blinked as he was woken up in his tent, made of black and orange cloth. Groaning, Holden Cross rose, his arming jacket rustling as he did, and looked up to the knight before him in the same colors as his tent, a shield around his torso that had been painted black and defaced with a single deep cut.

"Ademar," the second in command of the Blackstone Legion grumbled as he ran his hand along his face, "Is everything ready?"

"They're making the final preparations now."

"Good." Holden pushed himself up and looked to his heavy armor and pole-axe on a stand nearby. "Let's deal with the traitor and get a move on to Harrowgate."

"We could go to Harrowgate first," Ademar suggested, "Daubeny won't leave Westhold."

"Then we'll give the Vikings a chance to regroup after we send them running," he shook his head. "The Iron Legion be unable to keep them on the run."

"Not with their numbers, no. And if we don't crush the Vikings in one campaign…"

"They'll just be back next year," Holden finished as he glanced towards his heavy armor. _I really need to get a proper squire,_ he thought as he glanced to his second. "Well, the coward's only going to be waiting. I don't suppose I can…"

Ademar chuckled. "You really need a squire. Don't the Lawbringers take on juniors?"

"If you know someone who'd be willing to become a symbol of terror to the masses for the right reasons…"

That answered the question well enough, and the two started working on getting the heavy armor on.

"So, Hervis Daubeny. How well did you know him before this?" Holden asked as Ademar was strapping down the leggings.

"He was there at my trials to become a Warden, but we never spoke at length."

"Hmmmmm. So, he was a Warden… and yet he refuses trial by combat."

"A Warden in name and skill only now," Ademar snorted. "He's let power go to his head. A disgrace."

"That we agree on," Holden nodded as the two turned to unhook the breastplate and backplate from the stand. "The castle is meaningless… it's Daubeny we need, then we can move on to Harrowgate."

"Are you sure a direct assault is the best way to get to him?"

"No, and personally I would rather forget about him until we've dealt with this year's Viking horde," Holden sighed as he thought back to his orders. "But Apollyon wants him punished for his betrayal, and before he can consolidate. Harrowgate can't hold much longer so we can't wait for a proper siege… we're going to lose a hundred men at least."

"And you're not leading the climb," Ademar remarked as he tightened the straps on the torso pieces. "Our ladders aren't that good."

"Is that a crack about my weight?"

The other knight grinned. "Your weight? No. Your armor, on the other hand…"

"Laugh it up. Last time we took crossbow bolts, you were stuck in the surgeon's wagon for a week and I impaled the lot."

"So you like to remind me."

After the armor was on, Holden reached for his poleaxe and pulled it from the stand, looking across the weapon and nodded to himself. Sharpened and ready for the day's battle. "Right then, let's get this over with. Sound assembly."

Ademar quickly bowed his head and strode out of the tent, and soon after horns echoed throughout the camp.

XXXXXXXX

"Mornin' Joy."

"Morning John," she answered as she was walking along the wooden bridge over the damaged eastern wall. The outermost layer had been fixed, but the inside was still damaged and the masons would not be able to get around to it for another week.

"Another day, another watch," John grumbled, the thickly bearded sergeant holding his halberd bitterly as he looked down the hillside towards the outlying villages that were within Westhold's influence. "Hopefully it stays boring."

"Hopefully, but you're a sworn bannerman, not a mercenary. You're stuck here."

"Hah, no need to remind me. 'Course, I'm sworn to the Lord of Westhold, not the man holding the title. Maybe next year's warlord won't have the same ego."

Joy grimaced beneath her helmet. "And maybe he'll care enough about the legions to help his comrades in need…"

"Surprised to hear that out of a lady from the south. Didn't one of those Iron Commanders attack your family or something?"

Unbidden, the memories of that battle came back… her first, all because of a desire for territory masked in claims of the greater legions. But also the battle that set her to become what she was that day.

"The so-called Iron Duke is Iron Legion in name only, he doesn't even fly their colors anymore," she grumbled. "But this is Ashfeld… the Iron Legion is still here."

"Well, the only commander I know of is Stone. He's Harrowgate's commander. Good enough man from what I've heard, but…"

"Yeah, it's what you've heard." They trailed off for a moment as she curled her lip beneath her helmet. "How's your wife doing? Is Flavia alright?"

John frowned for a moment, then his face immediately brightened as if he remembered something. "Oh, right, yeah. So it turns out what had happened was, well, she's going to have a baby. I'm… I'm going to be a father."

"Hah!" she laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "Congratulations, John, I'm happy for both of you."

"Thanks! It's kinda hard to believe, I mean we got married just before winter, but now…" he took a deep breath. "It's a lot to take in, and I've got the easy part! At least until the little guy comes out, then I've got two babies to take care of!"

The two immediately looked around, but Daubeny was busy lecturing the archers on the west wall about maintaining a proper watch. Too far for him to hear them, especially since he had put his winged helmet on.

"You sure he's not a fake Warden or something?" John asked as he looked back at her.

"He's a real Warden… if not particularly adherent to his oaths," she grumbled. "But he hasn't done anything that actually breaks them. And if he has, no one's come to me about it."

"Sounds more like a former Warden then… can't you write to your Lord-Warden or something about this guy?"

She shrugged. "There hasn't been a Lord-Warden in centuries. But if I wrote, it would take weeks for the letter to get to Anastasis, then if there's a Warden to spare there they'd need to send him to investigate, and then if he finds anything we'd need to call a tribunal together…"

"... and by that time we're meeting the new boss, just like the old one but a new banner." John sighed, pivoting his halberd hand to hand as he shook his head. "Welp, you've got better things to do than listen to a sergeant's grumblings. Happy patrol, Warden."

"You too," she answered as she made her way past to the steps to the courtyard. It was going to be another long day of patrolling fully manned walls and halls with regular guards. If she had not seen the roster, she would never have thought that they were undermanned. But everyone had a guard shift, even if they would be moving to man the walls if an attack actually came.

And the question of what Daubeny had done to make him so fearful rang in her mind again. Why was he so afraid, why did it seem like the Blackstone emissary had shaken him so badly? Had he attacked them somehow, or were they just another warlord's legion eager for more conquest? The last shield before Daubeny's was of the Regal Legion, and they had been reduced to a scattered band of deserters. So how did the Blackstones figure into this?

Sighing as she pushed past the door out of the courtyard to make her way to the west wall, she put the thought aside. There was nothing she could do about it short of breaking her oath to Daubeny as a mercenary. The price of upholding her oaths as a Warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note for new readers: this story is an expansion of For Honor's story mode, particularly the story of the Warden. A huge goal of this was to fill in the numerous gaps that the campaign left, as well as to just explore the setting. Chapters will be written with weight of words to them, so never feel you have to read this in one sitting. Other than that, I hope you enjoy the story.


	2. Wardens and Cowards

"Daubeny! It doesn't have to be like this!"

As he looked up, Holden Cross could see the Warden turned warlord, gleaming in the morning sunlight thanks to his bronzed armor, and saw the man pass orders to one of his soldiers before fleeing away from the front wall.

"Coward," Holden muttered as he turned to look towards the attack. Legionnaires and knights were already rushing forward with ladders to strike the eastern and western walls. He lost sight of those going east, but to the west he saw that the wall had been undermanned at the time and they had already gotten a few men to the top, though Daubeny's soldiers were coming to stop the foothold.

"My lord."

He turned to see Ademar striding forward with his helmet in hand.

Holden growled as he took his helmet. "Break it down!"

" _BREAK IT DOWN!"_

Rumbling forward, their battering ram was rolling up the road as one of Daubeny's larger soldiers managed to dislodge a ladder next to the gatehouse, leaving the men on it to fall to their painful deaths.

_That's two already,_ Holden thought bitterly as he pulled the helmet on. "Daubeny!" he screamed, hoping that maybe his soldiers would reconsider, "Face me, spare your men!"

"That's not going to work," Ademar warned, nudging his shoulder and pointing to the southeastern tower. "He's playing at commanding rather than fighting."

"Well I'm standing here yelling, so I can't fault that," Holden grumbled as the next Blackstone volley from their mangonels smashed into a tower on the far side, crumbling it.

"Damn, this castle's in a sorry state. Half that tower just fell apart!" If he knew Westhold was in such a bad shape, he could have avoided sending the troops in… _Too late now,_ he realized with a resigned sigh.

"Perhaps we can force a breach?"

"Maybe…" he frowned as he turned to look at their siege engine line behind them, then to the walls ahead. The engine tower to the left would be a threat once manned, but the right looked weaker... "Tell them to knock out that engine tower, then we'll pound a breach on the other side if our men can't get the gates open!"

Ademar bowed his head and ran off, leaving Holden to stare at the warlord in the weaker of the two towers...

"This is on your head, Daubeny! Surrender yourself and save your soldiers!" he continued to bellow. Maybe, just maybe, the constant threat would get the fool to see reason...

XXXXXX

" _Incoming!"_

Coming out of the southwestern tower, Joy had her longsword at the ready as a pair of Blackstone sergeants cut down the four soldiers that had gone in ahead of her. Before any of them could react though, another boulder came crashing down into the half repaired wall, knocking the three of them down as splinters flew in all directions.

Coughing, she forced herself back to her feet as the other two sergeants did and entered her top guard, waiting for one to make a move…

The one to her right moved first, going for a swing to her right that she moved to block, sparks flying as the swords met. It was a light blow, and she immediately followed it into a pair of swift cuts, slashing along and past his mail. His companion moved forward with his shield and spear, but an arrow went through the gap for his eyes and he collapsed, leaving the two to duel.

It did not last long, with her opponent already bleeding he tried a desperate top swing but she parried it, knocking him to the ground and a single stab through his chest finished him off.

Looking ahead, she saw more Blackstones climbing up and dropped down the broken masonry so she could sprint up the stairs.

"Get offa mi'lord's walls!" the sergeant on guard shouted, parrying an opposing soldier's spear and throwing his weight into the man's kite shield, knocking him back. Joy leapt in, a single swing cutting off the Blackstone's head and sent his kettle helmet into the air.

The halberdier looked to her and smiled. "Ah, good to see you!"

"You too John. And stay alive, I don't want to have to tell Flavia you got yourself killed!"

"Hah! You worry too much!" The two moved forward as more Blackstones were climbing up the wall, John taking the right ladder while she worked on the left. The first man up the ladder raised a hand and a half sword, blocking her attempted swing down and pushing her back.

He climbed another rung, closing for a stab, but she deflected the blow to the side and stabbed back, gripping her blade for better leverage as she stabbed into his exposed face. The man fell backwards, knocking another off the ladder and both landed with a sickening splat.

A scream behind her almost made her jump as John was knocked back, a now bloodied billhook sticking out from below as John fell back, a deep gash in his left shoulder and a deformed shoulder guard. The Blackstone Legionnaire quickly climbed up, only to be met by Joy shoulder checking him into the ladder. The legionnaire lost his grip on the billhook and fell backwards over the ladder, at least two thuds echoing from below.

"John!" she shouted as she turned to look at him.

"Fucking cunts!" he managed to scream, incoherently, as he was trying to hold the wound down. "I just found… fucking… Joy!"

She whirled around as she heard the rustling of a flail and brought her blade up in time to catch it. The weapon's momentum scratched her helmet with spiked ball, then went around her blade. Gripping it with both hands, she brought the crossguard down into her opponent's face and knocked the woman back, her cheek bleeding heavily as she lost her grip on the flail.

Both faced each other as Joy slid the flail off with a dip of her sword and her opponent drew a falchion, but was clearly losing it as she tried to hold it up only to stumble. Joy didn't waste time, rushing forward and cutting through her neck.

Panting as the blood splattered and her opponent's head hit the ground, she turned to look at the ladders as more were coming up. Instinct took over and she moved in, attacking the enemies coming up and either knocking them over the ramparts or simply cutting them down and leaving them as a trip for the soldiers coming up behind. It all blurred together for her - probably because every time she dealt with one foe a second took his place, all while she held the same spot.

"Get those ladders off!"

Suddenly she had allies at her side - mercenaries and one of the knights who was part of Daubeny's household retinue, and the ladders soon were pushed away from the walls.

"Good job holding out," the knight said, nodding to her

"We've got a wounded man here!" a soldier shouted. "Shit, he's still breathing!"

"I'll get him to the apothecary!" Joy responded as she sheathed her blooded longsword and hurried over as the blur faded from her mind. "Cornellius, can you hold here?"

"We've got this!" the knight shouted.

Joy nodded, picking up the wounded sergeant and pulling him inside.

"I'm fine," John muttered deliriously, "Lemme… lemme at 'em… I'll catch up..."

"You can't even stand," she muttered. "Come on, tough it out, your wife's waiting on you…"

Though, realistically, she knew his odds weren't very good with a wound like that…

XXXXX

"Do I have to do everything myself?!" Hervis Daubeny screamed as he strode into the courtyard, cutting down a Blackstone Legionnaire who had come down a ladder connecting the courtyard to the western side of the castle. "It's not hard you fools!"

"Mi'lord!" another soldier, an ex-Regal Legionnaire, shouted, "The Blackstones are swarming the west side!"

Groaning, Hervis looked at them. "Fine, hold this courtyard and reinforce that gate!" He did not pay a third of his treasury to get a high quality gate just to have it be broken down by one pitiful ram...

"You heard him, reinforce that wall!"

Gripping his family's sword, Dusk, Hervis strode towards the keep to gather the reserves. "Damn you Asmodai," he snarled under his breath. "And damn you Apollyon… just could not leave well enough alone, could they?"

"Sir, some Blackstones got around the tower when it collapsed, they're storming the north side!"

He turned towards the soldier who had warned him and growled. "Then go fight them back! Don't let them anywhere near the main hall!"

"Aye sir, we'll keep the wounded safe! Let's go boys!" the soldier gestured for three of his friends to follow him and they ran past some of the only still-painted walls to the main hall to keep fighting.

Hervis opened his mouth, but thought better of berating them for wasting his time and moved on up the steps. He knew this was coming, and when it did finally come of course his men had no idea of how to conduct themselves. So many of them were utterly green recruits, like those stupid yokel farmers he had tried to turn into soldiers over the winter that were rushing to the main hall…

They could deal with that. He needed to take care of the western wall. Sprinting up the stairs, he saw that the fools had let themselves be pushed back to the stairs.

"Hold your ground you miserable wretches!" he snarled as he waded into group of legionnaires that were pushing forward, cutting through them like the little men they were and they quickly gave ground in an effort to get into a coherent formation.

"There he is!" a Blackstone shouted and Hervis looked up to see a knight with a longsword approaching him. "Get the gate open, I'll keep the traitor busy!"

As legionnaires behind the Blackstone Knight split up, some going for the walls over the gate others using grapples to slide down, Hervis moved forward to attack the enemy knight. "I'll show you how simple it is!" he snarled to the men behind him.

XXXXX

"Apothecary! Galen, I've got another one!" Joy shouted as she pulled a now unconscious John into the main hall.

"Bring him here!" the man shouted, his thin beard along his chin already blooded much like his arms. "There's Blackstones trying to get in, but the north door's been barricaded."

"Good, I'll go…"

"There's Blackstones swarming the courtyard!" another soldier shouted and she turned to see three soldiers with wet faces on the balcony above.

_Pascal and his friends must've been at the bathhouse,_ she realized as she looked up at them, pitying their timing, then she turned to Galen. "Will you be fine?"

"I'm offended by the implication. I studied at the University of…"

"He can handle himself in a fight," Pascal shouted down. "And we'll go clear those Blackstones coming in from the north if you get the courtyard!"

"Okay then," she nodded to them. "Be careful!"

"And you!"

Turning to give one last look as Galen and the castle's staff treating the wounded, she turned and ran out the main hall into the courtyard. Blackstone soldiers had come down the west wall already and were fighting for control of the gate.

_If that gate opens…_ she knew that would be the end of it: the Blackstones outnumbered them several times over. Their only hope was to use the fortifications to their advantage… not that it seemed to be doing much as the Blackstones were still pouring in and the castle was crumbling around them. She needed to change that.

Running ahead, Joy brought her blade down above in a feint before dropping low and taking the knees off of two Blackstone soldiers, sending them falling backwards. A legionnaire stabbed her right shoulder with a spear, but her shoulder armor deflected the spearhead and she switched her grip, shoving the pommel of her sword into his face and knocked him back before turning to another attacker and, using both hands on the blade, shoved it past his open guard like a spear.

" _Go, go, go! Defend this fortress! CHARGE!"_

Several more of Daubeny's soldiers - some of the mercenaries he had hired - charged in to join her as she hacked her way through the Blackstone soldiers. She had to credit the Blackstones - they kept trying even as she was cutting through the mob with the blade's edge and using the grip as a half-sworded club when the blade wasn't at a favorable angle. But common foot soldiers, especially ones who weren't in any coherent formation, were simply outmatched against a Warden.

"Come on!" one of the Blackstones trying to push the gate's beams off growled, "Push you bastards!"

As the lone legionnaire finally realized that his comrades had abandoned lifting to fight, Joy had already pushed through them and shoved her sword into his back through his mail, and pulled back as the door shuttered again which caused the man to topple into her. Staggering back, Joy grimaced silently as the courtyard quieted even as the rest of the castle was still screaming.

"Well, courtyard's safe for now," one of the soldiers muttered. "Right, you heard his stuck-upness, get that gate reinforced!"

"Need a hand, Christian?" she asked the leading soldier.

"Nah, we ought to- heads up!"

As she looked up, past the aged eagle statue that was mounted on the inside of the gatehouse, she saw Blackstone soldiers throwing off the few archers that were left on top. Most landed with a screaming thud, though one poor soul ended up sprawled on top of the eagle to bleed out. Then Blackstone bowmen took up the vacated position at the edge of the wall…

"Archers!" she warned as she sprinted to the ladder on the far side of the wall as arrows began to fill the courtyard. The surviving defenders took cover behind whatever was available, most crowding near the gate, and in no position to reinforce it as the ram continued its work.

" _It's over now, Daubeny! Surrender, let this end and save your men!"_ the enemy commander bellowed.

"Well that's not going to happen," she grumbled as she climbed up the ladder. Arrows shot past her, but none found their mark as she leapt over the top of the ladder and was now behind crenelations, only to see the hallway ahead full of Blackstones wiping out more of their soldiers, led by a particularly large and heavily armored knight with sword and shield.

"Another Warden?" the knight snarled as he turned to look at her, snapping the neck of one unlucky guard as he dropped the point of his shield into the man throat. "You a real one, or a fake like Daubeny?"

She entered her top guard, pointing the blade at the knight and his friends. "Come and find out," she taunted.

The Blackstone knight glanced at two his his friends, then shrugged. "The man who knocks her out gets her armor."

"I don't think that'd fit any of us, she's way too bi - look out!" the sergeant to the knight's left shouted.

Joy had already moved forward to attack, bringing her blade through the other sergeant's torso as she feinted. The man's brigandine took the worst of the blow, but she still managed to cut into him, her sword covered in fresh blood as she pulled it partway out to block the knight's reaction swing. Shoving the dying sergeant back into the legionnaires behind, Joy darted to the side as the knight tried to use his shield to push her into the wall.

He missed but recovered quickly, but not quick enough to save the other soldier as she managed to parry his left swing, pull him closer, and shove her sword through his guts. Pushing him off the blade, she turned to the now recovered knight.

"Marcus… oh, now you're getting bent over!" the knight snarled as he moved forward, shield up front and his sword coming down quickly overhead. She parried the blow, dropping with the force of it before pushing back. Unbalanced as his attack was deflected, his shield slid to his left…

And she seized the chance, bashing him back into the wall with her shoulders and, sliding the blade up her hands to half sword, brought it down in a murder stroke on the knight's left shoulder, yanking it out to a spray of blood.

Turning as the knight slumped against the wall, she looked at the Blackstone Legionnaires who glanced at each other, backing away as they locked their shields together.

Striding towards them, Joy looked at each legionnaire as she evaluated her next move. Although the legionnaires expressions were masked by either a proper faceplate or a padded coif with coverage, she knew they were afraid. They had locked their shields together and pointed their swords towards her, which gave them some defense against her as long as they kept cohesion. But even as she advanced they were moving backwards, blades shaking in their hands.

Of course, while they had numbers, those swords were also much shorter. Sliding her longsword up and gripping it by the end of the blade, she raised it to bring down over one of the shields and tugged. The force of it pulled the legionnaire - who had his shield locked behind the two next to him - out of formation.

The man screamed as he was pulled forward, cut off as she jammed the pommel into his throat and shoved him down so it was not stuck as she resumed her guard. The other legionnaires had been pulled with him, opening their formation and causing them to attack in a panic. Taking a step back to avoid the first swings, Joy brought her sword around and began to cut through them, throwing one legionnaire over the railing and bashing another's head against the wall with the crossguard.

"Should've just ran," she sighed as she looked at the bloodied corridor before running forward. She had to deal with those archers since no one else seemed to be free…

As she ran past the fresco depicting the fall of the last Sanctuary in Ashfeld, she could feel the castle trembling under the weight of the enemy catapults. Westhold was not going to last much longer under this kind of punishment…

_And it hasn't even been an hour!_ She realized as she sprinted up the stairs - if the enemy commander was more patient, he would have been able to destroy their walls at his leisure! She did not know if he knew or not, but she could hear fighting up ahead…

And as she came to the top of the stairs she saw Daubeny parry an enemy's knight's blade and then shove his sword through the man's stomach before pulling out and cutting his head off with a flourish, spinning around to chide the soldiers behind him.

" _That_ is how it is done! You see?!" the warlord bellowed at the soldiers. "Now clear those archers! And if she isn't dead yet find J…" he stopped as he turned to look at her. "There you are! You were supposed to be on the south wall!"

"I was stopping them from opening the gate!" she shouted back as she strode past towards the fighting ahead as the Blackstones were still climbing up the western wall even as the engine tower that had their catapult collapsed and deposited it above the gatehouse before their eyes.

Daubeny seemed to pause as she strode by and pushed her way through the fight ahead, cutting down several more Blackstone Legionnaires as the archers were shifting their attention to that side. She did not see nor care where Daubeny had gone as she pushed through, the fight blurring together as she pushed past the screaming men.

As she managed to get past she moved towards the catapult. "It's still ready to fire!" she gasped as she saw it was in tension. Ducking next to it as the archers tried to shoot her past it, she took a moment to examine the catapult to see how it was working...

" _They don't call these things kicking mules for nothing! Even if it's tied down it'll still try to launch itself with the rock!"_

Her older brother's eager lecture on the finer points of his explanation on how catapults worked rang through her mind as Joy looked at the war machine. Praying it did not send her flying into the courtyard, she stepped back and cut the two ropes holding the basket back.

XXXXX

Holden growled. "Can't that ram work any faster? Our men are dying!"

"They're working as fast as they can," Ademar reported as they were talking behind the bluff just in front of the castle. "But if they don't pull it back all the way, they won't break that gate. Looks like Daubeny spent some of his money wisely…"

"Of course, he had to spend it on the one thing that would make this bloody," the Lawbringer growled as he turned to look at the next wave. "Alright, let's go where we're strong. Davis! Get ready to send your men up the…"

Sudden screaming cut the order off and he turned in time to see his archers flying off of the gatehouse roof, a catapult bouncing on the left parapet and crumbling the walls further as it bounced down.

_How?!_ That was the only word that ran through his head as he stared at the sudden carnage. He had told the catapults to switch targets once he saw that his men had gotten through… if they were crazy enough to run through a tower that was being pounded, they deserved to have the beating stop.

When the engine tower had collapsed on its own he was worried, but the archers had moved far enough away at that point that it did not look like any had been caught in it. And they would have checked to make sure the catapult wasn't about to release on them. So what…

_Someone must've cut it,_ he realized as he stepped ahead to reassess when the southwestern tower finally collapsed on itself, and he could see through it…

"Charge!" he shouted. "Hah! Through the breach!" He ran towards it, Ademar right behind him as Legionnaires poured into it from Davis' contingent.

Only to have to stop as he got close enough to realize that the breach had collapsed part of the inside, meaning they had to go through one at a time…

"You're not fitting through that in full plate," Ademar remarked.

Holden could feel the pressure as his teeth ground together, and either it was a warmer day than he thought or his blood was boiling as he was denied the chance to get in there with his men. "Shoddy stonework... Davis, make it count!"

"Aye sir!" the smaller knight shouted as he took up his position next to the breach. "Let's go let's go! Everyone though! Come on Julia move it! Sextus what're you waiting for _move_!"

Walking towards the ram, Holden stared at the gate. It had to give soon, it just had to… he could hear the strain in the wood even over the din of the battle. And once that gate fell...

Beneath his plated gauntlets, his knuckles must have been white as freshly cut marble as he tightened his grip around his poleaxe.

XXXXX

_Of course_ a breach in the walls happened after she had cleared the archers. And of course the Blackstones had managed to get through the north, probably going around the great hall after cutting down Pascal and his friends, and swarmed into the courtyard.

_What a way to die,_ Joy thought with a groan as she made her way down the rubble to where the ladder used to be. The collapsing engine tower had left her a clear path, even if she needed to be careful on the way down, and led her straight to the courtyard battle.

There was where the battle would be decided as Daubeny was not going to surrender even with a breach in the walls. After all, the Blackstones had yet to be able to send their full might in - only small groups seemed to be able to enter at a time. But as long as the gate held, the Blackstones would not be able to completely drown them in bodies.

"Get their leader, Daubeny!"

"No, defend me!"

Sighing, Joy looked down at the courtyard fight and saw that an enemy sergeant was battering aside a few soldiers just below her…

"To hell with it," she muttered as she gauged the drop and leapt down, yelling as the longsword cut down the man's helmet and finally got stuck around the man's heart. Pulling the blade out, she turned towards the fight as adrenaline powered past the pain in her legs from the crouched landing.

"Keep fighting, we need to reinforce the gate!" Daubeny bellowed, "If the gate falls I die and so will the rest of you!"

"You could just surrender honorably," Joy snarled as she grabbed and turned him around.

"Are you a coward, woman!?" the older Warden snapped back as he came around, breaking her grip. "If we surrender, I die!"

"Is your life worth the lives of everyone in this castle?!" she snapped back. "I'd die for the people at Sandshore, any one of them! That's our duty, to shield our people even if it kills us!"

"Then fight," he snapped back, pointing Dusk towards the breach as blood dripped from the blade, "fight to your last breath to defend this castle!"

As much as she wanted to deck him with the crossguard of her sword, there was nothing else she could do. She was sworn to fight for this man, and he was determined not to give in. All she could do now without betraying her oaths was fight…

Then the gate crashed open, forcing everyone away from the gate as dust obscured the courtyard. Joy held her hand up to shield her eyes, for what good it did with her visor down, and she lost track of Daubeny in the confusion.

As the dust began to clear, a lone knight strode through the gate, his thick plate armor with lions carved into his shoulder guards gleaming in the noon sun. His versatile poleaxe was held horizontally over the ground as he strode forward. Even though he was fully encased, Joy could see the anger he strode in with as several soldiers, whether out of reflex or a death wish, tried their luck with a Lawbringer of Ashfeld.

The Lawbringer's wrath was swift, the first one cut down in a single swing, the second being parried before being disemboweled. The third fighter had his head rammed in with the butt of the poleaxe, and the knight did not even bother to kill the last soldier. He simply shoved the poleaxe into him and knocked the man onto his back, blood and at least one tooth flying out as he hit the ground and started crawling away.

"STOP!" the Lawbringer bellowed as Joy tried to approach him, holding her guard along with a few other soldiers. Soon enough, the din of battle fell silent as the soldiers on both sides turned to look at Ashfeld's justice.

" _DAUBENY!_ " he kept screaming, the cry echoing from his helmet,"Daubeny show yourself!"

Joy held her blade steady, wondering what was going on. The battle was the Blackstone's to win, all they had to do was stroll through the now open gate - which a large number of knights and soldiers were doing as they took up position on the Lawbringer's flanks - and cut them down. Then she heard the soldier next to her being pushed aside and turned to see Daubeny finally showing himself to his foe.

_Please,_ she silently prayed, _let him have the courage to surrender..._

"These warriors don't have to die," the Lawbringer continued, "Trial by combat! Right now!"

Joy almost took a step back - he had them at their mercy and was still giving Daubeny the chance by offering Trial by Combat?

"What, fight you?" Daubeny demanded, facing down the Lawbringer. "That's not a trial, that's an execution!"

The Lawbringer simply advanced on Daubeny, poleaxe held to the side like it was nothing as he stood over the disgraceful example of a Warden. "Then fight my second."

Joy turned to look past them as a Blackstone knight pulled his longsword from the ground and shouldered it, stepping towards Daubeny. And did he have…

"Joyeuse!" Daubeny shouted, turning and looking at her. "You will be my second!"

She stepped back, flabbergasted that even now he continued to put others even when offered what had to have been a much easier challenge! But one look around made her choice for her - it was this or a slaughter.

"Alright then," she sighed, stepping forward over one of the corpses and saluting her opponent. He returned the salute, and she saw what was strapped around his left breast.

A Warden's plate, painted with a thick black paint so the engraving was no longer visible, and defaced with a single but deliberate cut. She wondered for a moment if it was some sort of trophy, but the way he carried himself…

There was only one way to know for sure.

"Lawbringer, would you count us down?" she asked, looking to the right where the Lawbringer was standing on the stone platform near what used to be a ladder.

"I will count down from three. Three!"

She took a deep breath to steady herself for the fight ahead.

"Two!"

Both Wardens tightened their grips on their blades…

"One!"

… and both entered their guard.

" _Begin!_ "

XXXXX

Ademar moved forward swiftly in spite of his disgust and the corpses still lying around. Not only was Daubeny a disgrace by his cowardice and treachery, he was going to sacrifice a Warden to try and save himself, after wasting so many lives?

The two locked blades, changing guards with parries, counter parries, and deflections as they kept changing to keep up with the initial clash. Left, right, top left, top again, right, right again, right a third time…

This Warden, Joyeuse... she must have only just joined given her youth. But despite that she had a skill with the blade that he quickly was forced to appreciate. _A wolf,_ he decided as she made the next move, trying a high feint before cutting to his left. He managed to block it just in time, staggering around as the force of the blow propelled him around a headless Blackstone corpse and got his guard back in time for her to try another cut, this time he deflected.

And as she tried to recover, he charged forward and shoved her with his shoulder, sending her staggering back and she tripped over a pair of bodies heaped onto each other. She was back on her feet with her guard up in time as he came above for a blow, but this time she was forced to block, one hand on the grip and one hand on the blade, and had to kneel from the pressure. He struck out with his right foot, hitting her thigh and she cried out but forced him to the right a she turned the blades.

Staggering back and realizing how close they were to a fire, the two returned to their guards and began to circle around the tipped over brazier.

"You're good," his opponent said, breathing heavily.

"So are you," he responded with a quick nod. "How many did you have to cut through today?"

"More than either of us would like."

"Enough!" Daubeny snarled, "Kill the blackguard already!"

As they came around the fire again, Ademar saw his opponent strike forward. This time as he parried her first strike he managed to get a pair of quick cuts in as she recovered. One deflected off of her gauntlet but the second caught her thigh and she growled, stumbling back as Ademar backed off. Both looked expectantly at Daubeny, who was shaking his head as he watched.

"Well struck, Ademar!" Holden called out. "Daubeny…"

"What?" the coward demanded. "The trial is not over yet!"

"Trial by Combat can be to first blood," Joyeuse retorted, keeping her guard up even as she spared a glance towards her master. She seemed to be fine though - her mailed leggings had stopped the cut from being much more than a bruise.

"Not this one. Kill him!" Daubeny bellowed.

"Cries the sheep to the wolf," Ademar growled as he held his guard.

The other Warden moved forward again and they traded off a series of parries and ripostes, neither quite having the advantage. His opponent staggered back as the exchange ended and he sensed she was worn out - all the blood over her told him how that had happened - and he struck forward hoping to break past her guard with an overhead swing as her sword was to the side.

But as it came down she suddenly darted back, allowing his blow to sail into the ground as she almost tripped over a body behind her, then she sprang forward.

Caught off guard at her feigned exhaustion, her shoulder check knocked him backwards and Ademar gasped as he fell over a Blackstone corpse and hit the ground. She immediately went for another strike, but he managed to roll mostly out of the way. Grunting as a glancing blow cut across his waist, he managed to come around and get back into his guard. The two began to circle again, catching their breath and collecting themselves for the next exchange.

"Well struck," he grumbled as he assessed the wound; the mail had kept it from going deep enough to be crippling, but he only had so much time until blood loss kicked in. "I'm surprised that you would let a man like him order you around, though."

"A Warden's oaths aren't easily broken," she answered between breaths, "even if they are to a coward."

"You dare?!" Daubeny started, taking a step forward to draw before two of the soldiers held out their arms to stop him.

"She's right, and you know it." Holden shot back. "I gave you the chance."

Daubeny was about to retort, but thought better of it. Not that Ademar would have been able to listen as his opponent came at him again. She was sticking to lighter attacks this time, moderating how much force she put into each blow and pretty clearly probing. Ademar returned the same, testing her guard and seeing if she was having trouble switching around…

_She isn't,_ he realized with a twinge of admiration. If Joyeuse was fighting anywhere else, the sheep would sleep soundly at night with her as their protector.

But here she was, going for a top down strike to save a yellow trousered coward and almost certain to die for him too. Ademar deflected the blow with a two-handed block and shoved her back. She ran with it, moving towards the knocked over brazier until she was able to bleed out the momentum and reenter her guard. Ademar followed, looking at the flame and wishing he had a better option, but he needed to wear her out fast and fire was the only thing he had on hand.

As they clashed again and blades locked towards the ground, he elbowed her across the cheek, feeling pain shoot up as he hit her visor but her head was knocked to the side. He tried to push, but she managed to disengage and duck, then turned. A push later, and the only thing he saw was fire.

Ademar landed on the hot coals and burning wood with a scream, rolling and ripping off his tabard before it burned him alive. As he staggered back up she came at him again, bringing her blade down at full force. He managed to raise his in time and deflected the blow upwards, knocking her back and she tripped over a corpse. Her blade landed next to her, but Ademar himself lost his grip as he slipped to the right.

Reaching for his sword, Ademar gripped the hilt as he saw Joyeuse seize her longsword, half-swording it with the crossguard pointed down like an axe…

And he felt it plunge into his shoulder, penetrating mail, skin, muscle, and bone alike. The two stared at each other through their visors, panting heavily…

He tried to speak up, but nothing came and he felt his head loll forward before his world went black.

XXXXX

She had to win. But not for Daubeny, and certainly not to kill whoever this Ademar was - a Warden, or at least had been. But as her sword's crossguard was lodged in the now kneeling corpse, she was stuck wondering: was this all worth it?

"Yes! A righteous ending to the duel!"

Joy suddenly realized with Daubeny's shout that she had been standing there while her blade's crossguard was wedged into a man's shoulder, and yanked the blade out with both hands. Ademar's corpse slumped over unceremoniously onto his bloodied, charred, and discarded heraldic surcoat.

And as she looked around and regained her situational awareness, she realized that they were still at the Blackstone Legion's mercy. Holding her blade in her right hand, she stepped back as she saw the Lawbringer hand his poleaxe off to the soldier next to him and strode towards Daubeny. Even unarmed, Joy felt the need to take a step back from him and Daubeny reached for Dusk.

"It will not do for a knight of the Blackstone Legion to have been beaten by a common mercenary," the Blackstone commander growled.

"She is a W…"

"And is she a knight sworn to legion?" The Lawbringer gripped Dusk tightly just above the crossguard, glaring Daubeny down. The Warden relented and let his family's sword be taken.

"What is your name, Warden?" the Lawbringer asked as he turned towards her.

"Joyeuse," she answered as looked down at Ademar's corpse. "Joyeuse Maylis."

The Lawbringer nodded. "Kneel, and remove your helmet."

Planting her common sword into the ground and kneeling on her left knee, she pulled her helmet off. She saw the Lawbringer discard his own helmet next to hers, and as she briefly glanced up she saw him raising the sword with the flat of it towards her.

"For valor in battle. For honor in service," he recited, tapping her on both shoulders with the blade, "I, Holden Cross, raise you."

Her heart was pounding - he was raising her from an errant knight bachelor to a knight sworn to legion?

"Stand, Joyeuse Maylis," Cross said as he held Dusk in his left hand and offered his right to her, " _Knight of the Blackstone Legion_."

She hesitated for a moment - she knew little of the Blackstone Legion, was she just trading one poor oath for another? But she knew what was expected of her: while knighthood was as simple as being raised by any lord, the highest of their ranks - even if one was sworn as a Warden - were those who served in one of the legions. And compared to serving a coward...

With the honor being offered and not knowing anything that would require her to, how could she refuse in good faith?

She took his hand with her right and he pulled her up, smiling. The Blackstones seemed to not slap their newly inducted knights across the face as a reminder of their vows… then he pressed Dusk into her hands.

She blinked, looking down at the silvered blade. He was giving her Daubeny's ancestral sword?

"You dare…" Daubeny started, but Cross simply looked at Joy's common sword from the armory, yanked it from the ground, and tossed it to the warlord's feet.

"We're finished here," he snorted, turning away and easily scooping up his helm despite his armor, and the Blackstone soldier holding his poleaxe passed it back.

Joy stared down at the blade, still processing what was going on and looking at Daubeny. She was free of him - being raised to a Legion Knight also absolved her of any oaths sworn to a lord beforehand. Only her Warden oaths still held.

"Come on," her new commander prodded.

Joy inhaled, scooped up her damaged helmet, held Dusk just below the hilt, and followed him out.


	3. Blackstone Warden

"Master…"

"I am not Warlord of the Blackstone Legion, so you do not need to call me that."

"Oh," Joy paused, feeling somewhat embarrassed at making such an assumption. They were still walking back towards the Blackstone camp, most of the Blackstone force marching along the road save for a smaller group left behind to recover the dead and wounded.

"If you need the formalities, 'My Lord' is suitable since Apollyon granted me Redflow Castle… not that I spend much time there."

"Apollyon? As in, the Destroyer from the demon legends?" Why was the leader of the Blackstone Legion addressed by a demon name?

"After she took the position of warlord, the remaining leaders of the Blackstone Legion took on demon names as a reminder to ourselves about our strength."

A few seconds passed, becoming increasingly awkward as Joy was trying to piece together how she wanted to prod further.

"It's a relic from when Ashfeld was mostly under Viking control and some very hard times," he added to end the growing silence, "and I prefer my given name anyways."

"Of course, Cross. It's just, well..."

"Yeah, makes me sound evil. Which is why I stopped going by 'Asmodai' - everyone assumed that I was going to fly into a rage. That's all I want to say about the matter."

She considered mentioning the fury he had shown when storming Westhold, but decided against it.

They kept marching on towards the Blackstone camp, but Joy found herself trying to figure out if she was even making the right choice. She was glad to be away from Daubeny, but she was not sure of what to make of her new commander or the Legion he - they - served.

On one hand the adopted demon name made her wary even if he no longer used it. On the other, he had ceded the advantage in battle just to stop the slaughter and then abided by a result that he had no reason to accept. Not with the disparity of strength. She only needed to look at Daubeny refusing to let it be to first blood for the difference to stand out.

Then of course was the fact she had killed the friends of many she marched with. She could feel the glares coming from some of the legionnaires as she looked around, and could still hear the screams of those she had fought with, dead at the hands of Blackstones…

Was this what she wanted to do with herself - to join a Legion that she had basically killed her way into? _Better than serving a coward,_ she decided, but the question remained. What about Daubeny's hold on Westhold? Crumbling as it was, it still sat on Ashfeld's borders and if Apollyon wanted that back...

"You're undisciplined," Cross said, cutting off her introspection. "The young always are… but the skill with a blade that I saw back there. That's a rare talent you have, Joyeuse."

"Wardens have to be masters of the longsword. But I wouldn't say I'm outstanding by that measure - I barely passed my trials."

"And how old were you when you underwent the trial anyways?"

She paused as she considered her own skepticism when she was told she was ready. "Sixteen."

"Sixteen?" Cross stopped, turning to look at her. "Huh. A Warden hadn't passed the trials that young since what, two hundred years ago?"

"Two hundred and sixty," Joy corrected as she remembered the praise she had gotten that day. "But I had an early start - I was page and then squire to a Warden. When Sir Lancel felt I was ready, he brought me to Anastasis to undergo the trials."

"You must've done something to impress him. When was your first real battle?"

"About five years ago. I was just a thirteen year old squire at the time, and the Iron Duke wanted Sandshore. Sir Lancel was wounded and I had pulled him back, but some of his soldiers saw a chance for an easy kill…"

"So you had to defend him," Cross nodded for the two to move again. "That was how I met Ademar. We were fighting Vikings at Raby when I was wounded after taking a dane axe to the shoulder… or was it three?" He shook his head. "Doesn't really matter, I was on my knees and my opponent was about to swing down… then Ademar tackled the Warborn bastard. He killed him and the other Vikings who saw the opportunity."

Joy nodded slowly, wondering just who the man she had killed was. Had they not been forced to battle, could they have been friends? "Look, about Ademar…"

"Don't trouble yourself," Cross waved his hand. "We were both simply doing our duties, and that pitted us against each other. Let it be in the past."

"That does not mean I should forget the men I killed, or that they died for nothing."

"Do you know what happens to deserters?"

Joy tilted her head, blindsided by the sudden change of topic. "That depends on who finds them."

"The Blackstones prefer to give them a chance - sometimes men just snap. The worthy ones get back on their feet. And if they can do that without further betrayal, they've earned their leave or to rejoin."

She nodded. Odd, but it seemed reasonable and gave an incentive to not turn to banditry or join the enemy. "And the Trial by Combat is proof?"

"Aye. Of course, our Warlord doesn't want it to be easy. The average legionnaire might face a knight. Daubeny? He would fight someone like me."

"And since I won it for Daubeny, he's free?"

"For all that it's worth." Cross smiled as he gestured with his free hand towards the blade at her hip. "I didn't give you that sword because it looked nice. Was Daubeny respected much by his subjects?"

Joy thought back and only needed to think to how the soldiers referred to him when he was not present. "No, not really."

"And now his castle has been ruined, he was shown up by a common mercenary, and then did nothing as his family blade was given to said mercenary who was knighted into the attacking legion. Westhold falls every year… he will sort himself out. Perhaps the people will strike against him realizing his promises were a demagogue's lie. Or they will continue to just accept whoever holds power like sheep… all we came for was Daubeny. Westhold can crumble for all I care."

"Still, I killed three dozen of your men at least, including a few knights…"

Cross grimaced. "If anyone is to blame for that, it's me for simply pressing an attack rather than testing the strength of the fortifications. As I said, we were both simply doing our duties at the time. You need to look to the future."

"And what is that future?"

"To formally swear your Legion oaths to the Blackstone Legion, if that is what you wish." He glanced to the side, then back to her. "I may have raised you, but I cannot and will not force you."

She shook her head. "No, I will swear the oaths. You lost a lot of good men, and there are other battles ahead. Harrowgate…"

"... is under siege. We're going there next, and I expect you to be in the vanguard."

Joy smiled. This was what she came to Ashfeld for.

"But before you swear the oaths, I want to know something." The Lawbringer nodded to the south briefly. "Why did you have to come all the way to Ashfeld? There are many legions between here and Sandshore. So why here?"

"Ashfeld is where I can do the most," Joy answered, before pausing and curling her lip briefly. "Though, being far away is another part of why I came here."

"Running away from a wedding?"

Now it was her turn to stop in surprise. "How did you…"

"Do you think you're the only young woman to run away to become a warrior before she's taken to the altar?" Cross shook his head. "I've heard the story countless times before, and from men looking to join the Blackstone Legion as well."

"Ah," she started as she had to recompose her argument. "Well, yes. My mother was trying to get me married, figuring it would put an end to my dream of becoming a knight."

"Was that why you went to the trials at sixteen? You certainly were worthy, but that seems to be a rather petty reason for a Warden to undergo them."

"No, my brothers told me and Sir Lancel about it when we returned from Anastasis. I left within the week. Of course that meant I couldn't join a legion nearby - close enough for my mother to make the arrangement in good faith."

"And she didn't think that being a Warden took precedence?"

"We're not Peacekeepers, we don't swear oaths of celibacy, so that would not stop her. Sir Lancel suggested Ashfeld, as this was where the Iron Legion fought battles against our real enemies, rather than each other. Of course, given the Iron Commanders…"

"... you couldn't just join directly," Cross nodded. "I know the Iron Duke. He would never send a Warden this far north unless it benefitted him directly. Nor would any of the other Iron Commanders."

"No..." she trailed off as they came around the cliff and she saw a camp ahead, black and orange banners flying overhead. "Is this it?"

"Aye, we're here." Cross pointed to the east, where a large plume of smoke rose. "Our armorer, Seneca, will get your livery replaced. You've worn Daubeny's long enough."

Joy nodded. "And then?"

"Make your way to the center of camp, before the command tent. We'll get your oaths sworn before witnesses, and after that you're free to return to Westhold to gather your things and deal with any business that you need to tend to - any final goodbyes, promises to fulfill, see to your wounded friends…"

_Good, I'll be able to find out what happened to John, Pascal, Galen…_

She inhaled, steadying herself. She was about to step into a new chapter of her life. This was going to take time for her to come to terms with. But for now, she knew what she had to do, and the sooner she dealt with being fitted and swearing the oaths, the sooner she could say goodbye to those from the passing chapter.

XXXXXX

Striding into his tent, Holden immediately rested his poleaxe on its stand and his helmet on his desk, grabbing a rag to start wiping the worst of the blood off his armor. This day had gone far worse than he had expected, and he was not sure if it was worth it.

On one hand, a Warden was now swearing to the Blackstone Legion. But they had lost a former Warden in the process, along with over a hundred men dead or wounded. And Daubeny had snaked his way from justice with the Trial by Combat ending in his favor, free until some other legion or the Vikings came to take what he claimed as his. No matter what potential he saw in the young Warden, the Blackstones had really come out worse off than they had gone in.

He sighed. That Warden… there was something about her. Was he reminded of Apollyon before she had left the Wardens just as Ademar did, and wanted to lead her to her full potential? Or was he just trying to save face after being upstaged by the entire battle - and he had no one to blame but himself the more he looked back at it.

_Don't think about that, not right now,_ he told himself. He had to move on to Harrowgate, then it was time to deal with the Vikings. Daubeny was an excursion that he had been against but was ordered to deal with. Harrowgate was where he needed to intervene - if he could catch the Vikings between the sanctuary and the Blackstone Legion…

Of course, he had hoped Ademar would be able to lead the liberation. He was counting on the former Warden to spearhead the attack, especially if the Iron Legion needed a symbol to rally around. Now, he had a different Warden.

_She's a kid,_ he told himself. Only eighteen years old? Even if she had been fighting since she swore her Warden oaths, that was nothing next to the years of experience Ademar had. Maybe her natural talent would overcome that, but too often had he seen the ego that such talent gave lead them to an early grave.

Sighing as he sat down, his chair straining under his weight, he leaned on the desk and buried his head. "This was not worth it…"

"Sir?"

Holden immediately straightened up, clearing his throat as he saw one of his knights striding in, a crescent on his tabard and a great helm tucked under his arm. "What is it, Davis?"

"The bodies are starting to come in - Ademar's was one of the first to arrive."

Holden's gut tightened and he closed his eyes. Just hours ago he was planning tactics with him and even giving him a hard time when he made a joke about his armor's weight… and now Ademar was dead. The sudden change that battle caused was something he was accustomed to, but some things never seemed to get easier. Nor did he want them to.

"Thank you, Sir Davis. Where are they being buried?"

"That depends on your order."

Holden leaned back, thinking. He did not know the region besides the map and what he saw on the march, but sorting out the bodies and where to send them would take time. Time they did not have…

"Have the rosters checked. Any of our landed knights with Blackstone holdings are to have their bodies sent home. Otherwise, find a local church and see if they can help."

Davis bowed his head. "Sir."

As soon as the knight left, Holden buried his head in his hand again. This really was not something he was looking forward too - he knew what a proper murder stroke did to a body, but he owed it to his friend. Finally, he pushed himself up and strode through the camp.

The legionnaires, given that they had found defeat in the jaws of victory, were in rather good spirits. At first he chalked it up to the Blackstone Legion's ethos of a warrior's strength and facing worthy foes. Then he realized it almost certainly was the latter - those who had not been sent into the fray were being distracted by the stories of their new recruit by those who had seen and those retelling. Most of it was exaggerations of the duel between the two Wardens, former or otherwise, but he also caught a few other snippets of the battle. As he passed some of the soldiers hailed him, and he returned the greetings with a half-conscious acknowledgment as he moved through the camp.

He was able to find his destination by the smell of blood and guts, and the screams of the wounded being tended to as he was approaching circled wagons. Holden knew that injuries were inevitable, and had gone to considerable effort to retain several surgeons and apothecaries - their work was bloody and the patients still died half the time, but that was the limit of medicine, and still gave them a better chance than walking it off.

One of the apprentice apothecaries greeted him as he approached, and directed him towards where the bodies were.

"Mi'lord!" a legionnaire on corpse duty snapped straight as he realized who was approaching. "Sir Davis relayed…"

"I'm not here about that. Where's my second?" he demanded.

"Far side - we moved him to a wagon to headed to Raby."

"Thank you. Carry on, soldier."

"Aye sir!"

He strode through the piles of the deceased - plenty of bodies, most of them missing at least one limb or large chunks of their bodies. A pile of spares was quickly growing, mostly because they were finding it difficult to figure out who it belonged to. Those would probably go into a common grave, separate from the identified dead.

"What a waste," he muttered to himself as he walked past.

He soon found who he was looking for, lying on a stretcher in a wagon that had at least one other body in there. Climbing up the short ladder at the wagon's back, he stood over the corpse, staring at the familiar painted helmet. The hole between neck and shoulder had been covered up by spare cloth, and his sword rested over his chest.

Holden placed his hand on his former second's, staring through the eye slits of his helmet. Ademar was staring back at him, a blank and lazy stare with his eyelids half closed. Almost sleeping, save for the obvious blood. And just hours ago this had been a vibrant knight full of life eager to once again prove his strength…

" _If someone wants to be your second, they can come and try to challenge the alpha!"_

Holden almost smiled - it had been just after the raid at Raby when he had raised him to be his second, almost seven years ago. Apollyon was still going by her given name then. And the Blackstones? They had infighting in the top ranks over who was, in Ademar's words, the alpha wolf, but they had built something incredible with their strength. A home in lands deemed inhospitable.

The battles came back - the close calls they had fought through when it was just them, surviving the infighting between those who would command the Blackstone Legion, returning the favor to the Vikings burning down one of their port towns, and dealing with smaller legions that wanted what the Blackstones had.

As he looked down, Holden saw something flicker in the afternoon sun. Reaching for it, he realized it was Ademar's pendant that identified him as a member of the Blackstone Legion. On one side the legion's crest - a sword bisecting a knight's helmet on one side and a skull on the other. Then he turned it around, and stained with blood was a different crest.

This one depicted a shield, engraved with a griffon standing on three of its legs, facing the viewer with a sword held in its beak while the fourth paw was raised near the hilt. And it was defaced with a single deep, deliberate cut. The same cut that Ademar had defaced his Warden's shield with when he decided he would no longer be a Warden.

Yet as he looked at the blood-soaked Warden crest, a thought troubled him. _No, you're not that callous Holden,_ he told himself, yet he could not shake it. Who was taking Ademar's place now? Another Warden. The one who had - honorably - killed him in single combat.

" _That does not mean I should forget the men I killed-"_

"Commander?"

Holden tensed at the sudden interruption, reaching for the rondel dagger at his belt before he realized that it was simply a knight with the Blackstone sigil above a stag on his tabard. "Sir Leon? What is it?"

"The new recruit," the knight explained, his thin mustache twitching as he spoke. "She's been outfitted and is ready to swear the oaths."

" _...they can come and try to challenge the alpha!"_

Holden closed his hand around Ademar's pendant as he understood. "Thank you, Leon. I'll be there shortly."

Leon bowed his head. "I'll leave you to say your goodbyes, then."

As the other knight left, Holden turned around and looked down at the pendant again, then to Ademar's body. He knew what he had to do, and perhaps it would be the legacy that Ademar would appreciate. Perhaps not, but Holden had no intent to let his friend pass on with only word of deed as the legacy he left behind.

Sliding the pendant into a small pouch on his belt, Holden looked down at Ademar's body one last time. "Goodbye, my friend. And thank you, for everything."

XXXXXX

The swearing of a knight into a legion was always an affair that drew attention - Joy had attended a few such ceremonies in the aftermath of the petty wars she had freelanced in on her way to Ashfeld. Usually they were to raise valiant soldiers to the rank of knight to honor them or raise morale… and make sure there were enough for the next battle. Somehow she felt this was an example of the latter.

Especially since she saw some of the knights and legionnaires glaring disapprovingly at her even though she now wore the black and orange livery of the Blackstone Legion. Or perhaps it was because she now wore it, with no personal heraldry in addition as most of the other knights had. _Give it time,_ she told herself when the muttering stopped and she turned, Holden Cross striding through the crowd who would witness the affair.

"Joyeuse Maylis," he started as he stood before her. "Are you prepared?"

She bowed her head briefly. "I am."

Cross nodded firmly, glancing to a well dressed herald in orange and black who was holding a well ornamented and clearly ceremonial arming sword in a sheath.

"The oaths of the Legions bind all," Cross began, "from the lowliest sellsword to a knight of royal blood, any who swear them stand equal before their duties. Today another takes these oaths to become a member of the Blackstone Legion. To fight and, if need be, die in its battles. Joyeuse Maylis, will you swear these oaths?"

"I will."

Cross turned to the herald, drawing the arming sword and holding it before him, blade pointed to the sky. Joy drew Dusk, holding the longsword likewise.

"Bound by an unbreakable oath, we have sworn to defend our homeland to the death…" Cross began.

"Bound by an unbreakable oath, we have sworn to defend our homeland to the death…" Joy repeated, and the Oath of the Legions was issued and repeated.

" _We are the guardians of our people. We stand strong against all invaders."_

" _Duty is our shield, order our weapon. We are the righteous, avowed to shield the weak from the wicked."_

" _Where lawlessness and oppression reign, we will deliver swift and uncompromising justice."_

" _Together with our brothers and sisters, we are Legion. Together, we fight so that our lands may know peace."_

" _Together, we are the noble knights of the Legions. When we defend the weak, we are immortal."_

Joy's heart was pounding as she finished. The Oath of the Legions, originally for the Iron Legion but adapted by every legion as to maintain the integrity, was a sacred oath. Every legion swore to it and shared the same oath, even those that cared little for them. And now she too had finally been able to swear that oath, to truly live up to what a knight was meant to be. This was what she had dreamed of ever since she was a young girl.

"Stand with us, Joyeuse," Cross said as he looked to her, holding the ceremonial sword to the side and extending a hand. "And judge our foes with your sword."

She lowered Dusk, leaning it against the ground as to free up her other hand, and shook his. "If I had one foot in heaven, I would withdraw it to go fight."

Cross smiled. "Welcome to the Blackstone Legion."

A cheer rang out from those who were now her brothers in arms, or at least most of them. Soon, Joy found herself dealing with well wishers and trying to quickly remember a bunch of new names as knights and foot soldier alike introduced themselves to her.

But as she did so, she also saw others still looking at her, fixed glares or resting their hands on their weapons. She was able to recognize a few - a few legionnaires she had seen in Westhold's courtyard amidst the fighting, but also those she could not recognize but suspected they had seen her during that day's battle.

_Give it time,_ she told herself after a Dame Sibylla introduced herself and she almost immediately had to speak to another legionnaire, an archer named Rufus.

But soon enough, the well wishers had moved on, leaving the center of camp relatively quiet other than a few soldiers tented nearby tending to their own affairs like fixing arrowheads, greasing the gears of their crossbows, sharpening their swords, axes, or spears, and at least one knight getting his armor put back together with his squire.

She glanced around and noticed Cross was standing before his tent, arms folded as he had watched the proceedings, and now frowning slightly, looking down. As she turned towards him, he glanced up.

"You'll need a pendant to identify yourself as a Blackstone, should you not have your heraldry on or if it is destroyed," he started.

"I take it I talk to Seneca about that as well?" she asked.

Cross shook his head, walking over to her. "You could, but I think I have something more appropriate. You told me that you wanted to remember what happened today, those who died at Westhold."

"I did," she started, wondering where he was going with this.

"Then take this as your Blackstone Legion pendant, so all know that you are both a Blackstone and a Warden." The Lawbringer reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small pendant of a blackened metal and handed it to her.

She frowned immediately as she saw the defaced Warden crest on the back side. "This… this was Ademar's, wasn't it?"

"It was."

"I can't take this," she held it back out. "I did not take the oaths as a trophy from killing those warriors."

"Nor should you, but hear me out first."

She paused for a second, then nodded. Cross continued, starting to pace.

"Our warlord, Apollyon, sees the world in terms of predator and prey. She often calls the Legion her wolves, and even before she was Warlord amongst the troops in her command she encouraged them to test themselves, challenge themselves."

" _Says the sheep to the wolf."_ Ademar's response to Daubeny ordering her to keep fighting rang through her head...

"Wolves work as a pack to survive," Joy nodded. "They band together to live where alone they would die."

"Right, well, Ademar took it a little differently. When some grumbled about him becoming my second, he told me that if any of them really disagreed, they could challenge the alpha. The alpha's the protector of the pack, but it has to be a position earned in strength and valor, and if he can't defend it then someone else should take the role."

"Like the Warborn's Warlords," she nodded slightly.

Cross raised an eyebrow, but pushed past to the point. "And well, I don't want his legacy to just be some words and a list of deeds. I want him, and everyone who died today, to have more than some empty platitudes about carrying on or turning the other cheek to go stab the Warborn in the guts. For better or worse, what you do is that legacy."

She looked down at the pendant again, the defaced griffon of the Order of Wardens…

"That is why I want you to take it, and this may be an empty platitude, but… I believe he would have wanted to know that his legacy was more than a list in the annals."

Joyeuse closed her eyes. Her gut told her that this was a trophy that was beneath a Warden, but she could still see the former Warden's desperate look through his visor as her murder stroke had tore through his shoulder. A man's last moments before his life left before her eyes. And he was just one of many who had died that day.

"I only hope that I can live up to it," she finally said, "but even if I refused this their legacy would not change. So I'll wear it, to remind myself of what I am fighting for, and what happens when I turn away from these oaths."

Cross put a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you. Now, there were more dead than Blackstones. I've kept you here long enough. Go pay your respects to the fallen at Westhold and say your goodbyes."

She nodded, gripping her hand around Dusk's hilt. "I will." She bowed her head and started turning away.

"Dame!" Cross called a moment later.

"Yes?"

"Give the garrison my condolences, for what they are worth. None of them deserved what happened today."

She nodded, then moved on.

XXXXX

"Halt, who goes there… Dame Maylis?"

Joyeuse looked up at the knight up on the wall. "Sir Cornelius, is that you?"

"It is! But I thought you were taken…"

"They gave me leave to say goodbye."

She was sure that Daubeny's knight smiled. "Hold on a moment!... Hey, Christian, get the gate open!"

It took about a minute, but soon enough she saw a familiar face opening one of the gate's doors. It was still on its hinges, but how well it was holding besides a fresh beam she had no idea.

"When we all saw you left, we thought that'd be the last we saw of you," Christian explained as he stood by the gate while she entered. He was still disheveled from the earlier battle, or the work afterwards, but it was hard to mistake the grin behind the short beard. "Good to see you, even if this'll be the last time in a while."

"It may be the last time at all," Joy answered as she dismounted the horse. "I can lead him to the lists," she added as he stepped up to take the horse, and the two continued to talk as she led it over. "How many?"

Christian immediately deflated. "Sixty dead, eighty wounded, mostly from the local militia. If Galen wasn't a master with medicine, we'd have lost a lot more as deaths…"

"Instead they're just going to be cripples?" she asked as she sighed, shaking her head as Seneca's explanation of Daubeny's oathbreaking lingered in her mind. "All because Daubeny just wanted this castle and wouldn't take on trial by combat."

"Yeah…" Christian trailed off as they reached the lists and Joy started to tie the horse's reins to one.

"So, who died? John was wounded…"

"He'll live. Actually, he may even make a full recovery. He's staying here, and Flavia came by to keep him company."

She exhaled, shoulders sagging as she let the reins go, tied to the post. "Thank Heaven…"

"... but I doubt he'll be a sergeant for long. He's going to live, but Galen still isn't sure if his arm is going to get infected or not. If it does, he'll lose it."

"Damn. What about Pascal?"

"Dead - broadsword almost decapitated him," he explained as they started into the castle. "Blackstones didn't attack the main hall though. Seems like they just wanted the gate open."

She sighed. "For what it's worth, Holden Cross sends his condolences about Pascal and the rest."

"Heh, doesn't mean much considering he was the one who led the attack, but I'll let the others know…"

"He knew it wouldn't mean much, but he gave up the advantage to stop this from being a slaughter."

"Doesn't change the earlier slaughter, but…" Christian sighed, stopping her at the fresco depicting the fall of the last sanctuary.

"What's wrong?" she asked, frowning.

"Maybe it's nothing, but I'd suggest you grab your gear, say your piece to the others, and go."

She exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment and looking up. "Daubeny thinks I'm to blame for this?"

"We haven't seen him since the battle. Once the last Blackstones left with their corpses, he just… shut himself into his chambers. Galen said that when he went to report on the wounded, he had emptied a whole cask and had opened another one. Not even having the servants do it, the barrels were just in his room with his goblet…"

She nodded and stepped towards the stairs. "Thanks for the warning. I'll try to be quick…"

"Oh, before I forget," Christian said as she started up, "after the Blackstones left a messenger showed up. One of the letters was for you. Had some crest on the seal..."

She straightened up. "Where is it?"

"We put it in your room. Letter from home?"

"It might be… thank you, Christian."

"You're welcome. And good luck with the Blackstones."

"Thank you," she answered with a nod and moved through, striding past the Warden statue at the keep's gate and into the hallway where her room had been. The letter was found easily enough, lying on her desk, and she grinned as she recognized the seal and saw her name on the folded parchment. Breaking the seal, she started reading.

_Joy,_

_I hope Westhold treated you well this winter, and that you are in good health. Things have remained quiet here in Sandshore, though that may not last. Count Raynald has been sending ships towards the shoreline, but so far he has avoided attacking and has not raided any of our ships… yet._

_It may be his read of the vassals - I mentioned that some were privately offering me support, and every time I visit one there's another conversation in a quiet hall. I think they are starting to believe that I should inherit father's throne now, rather than wait for mother to step down. I am not so sure - our position relies heavily on diplomacy and well, that was always mother's strength, not mine. Alliances are not something you put together from ancient lore - ancient grudges are usually why diplomacy fails._

_Speaking of grudges, Brandon also entered his first tournament - he's almost sixteen and he was not going to miss the chance to join because he was a few months short. He did rather well, though his opponents quickly shared our frustration with his throwing. Then they outfought him, unlike some of the peacocks we had seen in previous seasons who would demand disqualification due to 'dishonor'._

_Brandon asked me to send my regards with the letter, as did mother along with her insistence that you come home as soon as possible. I think she finally came around to the fact that you take being a Warden seriously, even if she still expects it to go horribly wrong. Me? I say keep going, and find what you're looking for in Ashfeld. When you're ready, Sandshore will be waiting. And write back soon, we're all missing you._

_With a Brother's Love,_

_Robert_

She smiled as she read the letter through twice - word from home was something she had sorely needed with all the day's events, and other than a mention of the usual issues it was all good news. She looked at the small roll of parchment she had on her desk and reached out for the inkwell, but stopped herself as she saw part of her armored hand. She did not have time, at least not right then.

Folding her brother's letter up again, she went through her room and packed what she had travelled with - a single backpack with a bedroll and blanket, some spare travel clothes, a hunting knife, a pouch with the pay she had from prior service, and utilities - a water canteen, a bowl and utensils, spare rags, and similar. All she had to do now was wrap up the inkwell for travel, stick it into the pack, and she would be ready to head out again.

Taking on last look around to make sure she had gotten everything, she slung the pack over her shoulder, grabbed Dusk by the scabbard, and strode out. Evening was starting to set in as she passed through the portcullis from the main keep, passing by the Warden statue that centuries past the Iron Legion had erected. Making her way down the stairs she stopped as she saw who was at the base.

"John? Christian? Galen? Flavia?"

The four turned towards her. John had his arm tied down with a cloth, Flavia's blond hair was tied into a bun, Christian had taken his bascinet helmet off to hold under his arm, and the surgeon was wiping his visibly clean hands idly as they had been waiting.

"Joy, good. Was worried I'd be asleep when you came down," John smiled. "I wanted to thank you personally, for earlier."

"You don't need to," she waved her hand with a smile. "I'm just glad you're alive."

"Assuming he does not aggravate it further in his stubbornness," Galen remarked as he shook his head. "So, did the Blackstones tend to your injuries, Joyeuse?"

"They were nothing more than bruises and a few minor cuts. Nothing that needed attention," she explained. "Anyways, once I head back, I'll be on campaign to Harrowgate and further."

"Harrowgate?" Flavia asked. "Well, those Vikings won't know what hit them."

"Wish I was going with you - last time the Vikings were through here it was rough. Still owe them some payback…" John started before wincing, placing his hand on his wounded shoulder.

"Easy dear," Flavia chided as she rested her hand on the other, "you've done your part. Let the others fight."

"We should not hold you much longer. If our liege sees you I am not sure how he will act," Galen added as he looked at her. "Safe travels on your journeys, Warden."

"And thank you," Christian added, "for saving our lives. If you hadn't won, Daubeny wouldn't have surrendered and most of us would be dead right now."

"If you're ever around, the door's always open," Flavia added as she smiled.

Joy offered her free hand so John could grasp with his unwounded arm, and he took it with a tight hold. "Take care of yourself, John. And good luck with your child."

"Thank you," he answered as he returned the smile. "Whatever happens next, these last few months have been an honor."

XXXXXX

As the Blackstone's trumpeters sounded a morning revelry, Joy blinked as she shot awake, unused to the particular pattern nor the surroundings she woke up in. But soon enough, she was on her feet and looking around the tent. On a nearby stand was her armor, minus the gambeson that she was still wearing as night clothes.

"First day as a Legion Knight," she reminded herself, smiling as she heard the bustle of soldiers preparing outside. It was really happening.

She had been situated not far from the command tent, and had her own tent to sleep in - previously Ademar's, but his belongings had been removed to return to his home with his body. Only a few items had been left behind - the aforementioned stand, the cot she had been sleeping in, and a stool that had a wash basin sitting on it.

Washing her face off in the basin and looking down, she saw her blue eyes looking back in the rippling water, her blond braid dangling behind her. Taking a breath to steady herself, and satisfied she had washed off the last of the grime from the previous day's fighting, she armed herself for the day ahead.

As she stepped out, the camp was busy - some soldiers going for breakfast, others busy breaking down the tents to pack up, and a few dealing with last minute equipment issues. Striding towards the center of camp with her helmet in her right hand, she found Cross issuing orders to nearby soldiers, though he was only in an arming jacket at the moment.

"Come on move it! Julia, your marching pack's not tied to the cross pole properly!" Cross growled Joy approached. "Ah, Warden. Sleep well?"

"Well enough, my lord," she admitted with a shrug.

"Good… and your shoulder guard's loose," he added, nodding to it. Joy glanced to her left and bit back a curse.

"I thought I got it…"

"If you need help with your armor, we've got several extra squires attached to the army with Seneca. Actually while you're there, tell him to send one to my tent."

"I take it full plate is too cumbersome?" she asked. She had to learn to get her partial plate on herself as she never had the luxury of her own squire, and even then that had taken quite a bit of practice and more than a few embarrassing moments as some of the harder to reach straps came off at the worst time.

"Unfortunately. We will be preparing to leave within the hour, and I will be having my contingent leaders present for a meeting then. I expect you to be there."

She bowed her head. "Yes sir."

It was much easier to find her way to the armorer's tent this time, trying to tighten her loose shoulder guard along the way, and when she reached it she saw the armorer overseeing several younger men - some boys, a few older - in packing it up.

"Ah, Warden," Seneca said with a nod, the hints of the previous day's soot still on his clean shaven face despite still being wet from washing. "Having a good morning?"

"So far so good, but I brought some orders from the commander…"

"He needs a squire doesn't he?" Seneca grimaced. "Yeah, should've expected that…" he exhaled. "Alright, I'll send one over. Actually, you don't have a squire, do you?"

She shook her head. "No, I was never in a position to take one on."

"Right, well, as long as you're with us I'll send one of the squires in the morning to help you with your armor." He turned back down to the kit he was packing before he paused. "Oh, uh… we don't have any women as squires, Sibylla was knighted last winter."

"I think I met her yesterday," Joy knew the name sounded familiar. "But don't worry about it, if he has to see me that undressed I'll have bigger issues," she answered as she considered the list. Most of which involved some form of severe injury.

"Hah! Good to know, but I've had to deal with some really picky Dames before so I wanted to be sure."

She nodded as her stomach growled. "Right… you know what they're serving for breakfast?"

"Haven't eaten yet, too busy… and if you want the squire can get you breakfast as well."

"Thanks, but I'll see how much spare time I have before I take that offer up."

He shrugged, "Suit yourself."

Once the shoulder guard was properly tightened down and after getting breakfast, Joy made her way back to the command tent. Camp followers were already setting to work getting Cross' equipment packed, sparing for the moment only a large table where a couple of the Blackstone Legion army's leaders were gathered looking over a map.

"If we swing around the north," a knight in half-plate she did not recognize started, "we should be able to smash their flanks with my cavalry."

"Not a chance, the Vikings will have at least some lookouts to commit their reserves," Cross countered, shaking his head before looking up. "Ah, Warden. Good, now we can begin properly. Lord Guy, this is our new Warden: Joyeuse Maylis of Sandshore Castle."

The knight in half-plate and briefly dipped his head, his long goatee rubbing against the torso plate. "Well met, Warden. Is she to join the vanguard today?"

"She'll ride with you as we make our way to Harrowgate," Cross nodded.

"I'll need to borrow a horse again then," she answered, "but I'm ready."

"What happened to yours, was it shot out from under you?"

She nodded. "Crossbow bolt through the eye at close range at Messalia. I'm more of a foot knight, though."

"A shame, but yes we have remounts available if needed."

"Moving on from the details," Leon cut in as he glanced between them. "My men are accompanying the wounded and the healers Sister Noelle is leaving to tend to them, so that means you only have a thousand men to march on Harrowgate. Is that going to be enough to reinforce the garrison?"

"If they hold the outer wall, easily," Cross growled. "And last I heard, Stone is still holding. I've sent some of our rangers ahead to make sure and warn us of any trouble."

"Under which ranger, Rufus?" Davis asked.

"Aye, that's the one." Cross pointed to the map, following the road from their camp to Harrowgate. "Now, the path I've chosen has several points where the Vikings can cut us off, but it's the fastest route and the only one our siege engines can easily cross."

Joy nodded along as she looked at the route - main road, likely a trade route, though she doubted there would be many caravans going north while Harrowgate was besieged. "And if the Vikings cut us off?"

"Then I expect you and Guy to secure the ground for Yarwick to set up the artillery and we crush our way through."

The half-plated knight dipped his head. "We will secure Yarwick's picnic spots."

_Probably their chief engineer,_ Joy noted as she made a mental note to try and meet the man when she had the chance.

"Good. Davis, you'll be bringing up the rear with your contingent while I lead the bulk of our forces. I want you to stop by the villages, see if any are willing to join us. We may get lucky and find some survivors from prior relief efforts, and we could use the manpower."

"Aye sir."

"Any other questions?" Cross asked. There were none. "Good. Lord Guy, Warden, you two are to leave as soon as you are mounted up, the rest of us will follow behind."

XXXXX

"Rangers ahead!"

Joyeuse brought her horse to a stop as the warning shot through the hundred strong vanguard of cavalry. Most of them were heavy cavalry, adorned in barding with Blackstone colors as well as some familial heraldry. Hers was protected by quilted barding with only Blackstone iconography, but Guy rode a massive charger that was protected by mail skirts with the horse's front armor consisting of several pieces of plate.

"Let's see what our pathfinders have found," the armored knight growled as he gestured them to move on at a slow trot. It was the second day of their march and it was late in the afternoon - another two hours and the Blackstone Legion troops would reach their destination. The Rangers had the day before seen off some scouts, so they were expecting trouble, and it seemed to have found them at an inopportune position.

At least a half mile ahead was a large hill, gentle in slope with numerous rock formations dotting it and breaking the climb, but the road went up it and, if Joy remembered the map right from checking it before the second day's march, went on for at least another quarter mile past before sloping back down towards Harrowgate. To either side was dense woodland, too dense for anything more than a few scouts or a lone rider to move through.

"Did they find a deserter?"

Joy glanced to her left at the Dame who had spoken up regarding the returning scouts, now accompanied by a man in green and yellow. "Or a messenger," she offered to the woman.

"Whoever he is, he's Iron Legion," Sybilla growled beneath her sallet helmet, "Let's hope he isn't here to tell us Harrowgate fell."

"You worry too much Sybilla!" laughed another knight with a pair of antlers attached to his helmet. "The Vikings can barely build a motte and bailey!"

Before they could correct the underestimation, the Blackstone scouts and their new companion had reached them.

"Ranger Rufus reporting, mi'lord!" the leading Blackstone said with a hasty dip of his head, longbow strung and in his left hand.

"Report," Guy growled. "And who is this man?"

"Legionnaire Tiberius, sir!" the Iron Legionnaire answered as he was panting, a snapped arrow shaft sticking out of his helmet. "I barely made it out of Harrowgate…"

"Is the Sanctuary fallen, soldier?!" Guy barked.

"N… no sir, but the outer walls have fallen! The Vikings have stormed the castle and are threatening the sanctuary itself, Stone sent me to find your commander!"

Joy winced - Harrowgate was an ancient sanctuary and had two lines of defense. From what she knew, the outer walls protected the bulk of it, with the sanctuary itself was built on a hill. That would give them some time, but they were still a few hour's march away...

"How many Vikings were behind you?"

"I'd say eight to nine hundred," Rufus answered. "Their reserves, I think, already marching up the hill, probably at the top now. No siege engines, but lots of archers."

Guy growled, snarling in frustration as he looked ahead and around. "Fine then. I want the left wing to take that crest quarter mile ahead, take Yarwick's ground! Rest of you stay with me!"

"Good luck," Sybilla said as she turned to the left.

"You too," Joy answered with a nod as she stayed with the right wing of the cavalry.

"Ranger, take the Iron Legionnaire and tell the commander what you told me."

"Aye sir!" he bowed his head. "Rest of you lads stay here and help the cavalry!"

The remaining rangers, a dozen of them, acknowledged the order and they moved to their positions. As the left wing of cavalry took favorable ground for the siege engines, Guy led the rest up the road in line with them to keep the forward position.

And as they waited, the Viking's marching chant echoed and turned from a distant noise to something comprehensible. And then they reached the top of the hill before them, in formation to quickly adopt a shield wall with archers of their own taking the front line.

But behind them, the Blackstone Legion was coming up and at the fore was Holden Cross with his poleaxe ready. The mangonels were rolling close to the front, Yarwick's barked orders echoing over. One of the army squires rode up to where Joy and Guy were waiting.

"Warden!" the young man said, "the commander needs to speak to you, right now!"

Joy glanced to Guy, then guided her horse back through the ranks to where Cross was speaking with Tiberius, who now had a horse of his own.

"My Lord, surely more can be…"

"Those woods aren't thick enough to hide more than a few… Warden!" Cross called, turning as she approached.

"What are your orders, Commander?" Joy asked, dipping her head briefly.

"These aren't orders," the Lawbringer shook his head. "They're too suicidal for that."

"Sir?" she frowned.

"If past battles hold true, the Iron Legion garrison is at the breaking point. The nearby woods aren't thick enough to hide cavalry, but two riders may be able to slip through to the escape tunnels…"

"... and you want me to make my way into Harrowgate," she finished as she understood why he considered it suicidal.

"If the Iron Legion can hold the inner sanctuary, I can destroy this force and relieve the garrison. But if the garrison falls, the Vikings will just turn our own defenses against us."

"Sir, Harrowgate was falling apart when Stone sent me. I don't know if a single knight, even a Warden, would change that."

"That's why this is a request, not an order," Cross growled. "Joyeuse, if you are willing to, Tiberius will guide you to the escape tunnels so you can get inside and help the garrison hold out."

She leaned back, the prospect of fighting the majority of a Viking horde looming over her mind even as she heard the shouting of other men about to attack the same. And she would be fighting it from a losing position, and likely to lose if the Blackstone Legion was delayed. The Vikings, if they took prisoners, rarely observed chivalry. If she was fortunate, it would be a relatively quick death as an offering to their gods. If not, slavery.

_Since when have I let that stop me?_ She told herself as she considered what she had done just two days before. At least this time, she might die for a good cause - maybe even save some of Harrowgate's people if the Vikings compromised their perimeter to swarm the garrison as they usually did.

"Warden, if we do this, you'll die," Tiberius pointed out.

She glanced at him, then shrugged. "We're knights. It's an occupational hazard."

The Iron Legionnaire groaned, "I was really hoping you wouldn't say something like that…"

"We both swore an oath, Tiberius," she stared at the Iron Legionnaire. "Now we show what our words are worth."

Cross sighed. "Alright, Joyeuse. As soon as we begin our attack with our mangonels, take the woods on our right flank and move past the battle line. Then Tiberius will guide you into Harrowgate."

She nodded. "Anything else?"

He shook his head. "Nothing more than a prayer for your safety."

"Thank you," she dipped her head again, then pulled the horse's reins to turn it around so she could get into position.

_Time to live up to the legends,_ she thought as she understood what she was up against. A castle in trouble, an army bearing down on it to sack it, and help on the way but delayed. Legends were made on less… often dying in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the biggest things I wanted to do with this story was expand on what was there and fill in the many gaps. For example, why did Cross only send the Warden to Harrowgate, besides thinking she could handle it? And how did the Warden get inside the garrison if the Vikings were storming the gate?
> 
> And tied to that, elaborating on bit characters. Ademar turned out to grow a lot more than I had expected even with wanting to give him something - he was Cross' second after all and was recognized as a (former) Warden, that's not some rent-a-knight. But I like how it turned out, and hope to do the same for others as long as there is the room for it. These characters, in universe at least, did not just spontaneously appear after all.


	4. The Sword and the Stone

There were many legions, and the Iron Legion was the greatest amongst them. It was the first of the legions to rise after the cataclysm, and for a while it stood as the only one. The Iron Legion was the symbol that the disunity following the cataclysm as men fought to survive and knights rose was a thing of the past - that they could reclaim what had been lost. The Great Empire was no more, but its people lived on.

Yet when the long wars against their neighbors slowed down, the Iron Legion fractured. It remained, but even the Iron Commanders had begun to care more about their own power than maintaining unity. Many of the splinter legions spoke of loyalty to the Iron Legion, but even those who meant it were often unable to do more than lend token support. Or, in the case of Joy's father during his youth, spend a few seasons on campaign with them before coming home.

And here she was, a Warden serving one of the larger splinter legions that had arisen in Ashfeld, here to put her life where her words were. Her guide's words turned out to not be worth much, as Tiberius had abandoned her at the escape tunnel claiming he was going to seek more help.

Striding into a courtyard behind a postern gate, Joyeuse joined the Iron Legionnaires regrouping with a Lawbringer in rent armor. Above she could see the garrison commander, recognizing him by Tiberius' description - spiked kettle helmet and Conqueror's chains. The commander ducked as a few arrows and a flaming boulder smashed into a nearby tower, but as he stepped back he looked down and saw her.

"BLACKSTONE!" he bellowed, "Where are our reinforcements?!"

As the doors behind her closed, Joy glanced back, then back to the commander above her and shrugged.

"I'm it."

She saw the commander step back, staring into the sky for a moment before resting his head against the inner battlement.

"Is this a joke?!" he demanded.

Joy shook her head, and the legionnaires gathering in the courtyard began to groan.

"Tell me there's some good news at least!" the Lawbringer in the courtyard bellowed. "They've been besieging us the last three weeks!"

And we haven't piled up nearly enough of them!" A woman loudly added, Joy turning to see another Conqueror in the ranks milling about.

"The Vikings took about eight hundred to stop the Blackstones, but Holden Cross is going to break through the blockade soon with a thousand men," Joy answered as she realized she had demoralized them with being the only support - they needed some glimmer of hope besides a Warden being present.

"Eight hundred Vikings?!" Stone shouted. "Did you say…"

"Eight hundred, yeah!"

Stone stepped back, turning to someone else on the battlements. "Open the gates!" he bellowed. "Lead us out, Blackstone!"

Joy nodded, striding towards the thoroughly broken gates - she could see through planks that had snapped in half at the top. Iron Legionnaires muttered as she pushed through the ranks, quickly telling her the mood.

"We're fucked, eh James?"

"Is that a Warden with us?"

"O Lord, from the fury of the northmen deliver us…"

"Hope Stone's got a plan besides crushing 'em beneath his…"

"Magnus, if you make it through tell my wife I love her. Just tell her, okay!"

"Fuck it, if we're gonna die let's drag 'em to Hell with us!"

"It is a Warden - God's answered our prayers!"

"Well, we might have a chance after all…"

"The Vikings have a ram, Warden," the female Conqueror in a pot helmet said as she stepped to Joy's left behind the gates. "We were going to sally and try to knock it out… or more likely die trying."

"The gate can't hold?" Joy asked, though if this gate was in such a sorry shape she had a feeling that meant the other gates were even worse if the Vikings were trying those instead...

"Not for much longer," the Lawbringer explained as he stepped up to her right, "but between the Vikings we've killed and their reserves being gone, this just might work."

"Hey, before the gate opens, maybe we oughta exchange names?" the Conqueror said as she started spinning her flail. "You know, before we're all naked in front of each other in Heaven."

"Joy," she answered before glancing to the Lawbringer. "You?"

"Alberic."

"Ashley," the Conqueror finished as the gate began to open.

"Good luck!" Stone bellowed above as the Iron Legionnaires began to shout taunts, amping themselves up for the potentially suicidal charge ahead.

Joy gripped Dusk tightly as she drew it, looking back to the legionnaires before looking ahead and taking a deep breath to steady herself. If what they were saying was true, then the battle was already lost. She needed to change that.

The gate fell open, and Joy bellowed one order to the men behind her.

"Follow me!"

With a yell, they charged forward. Joy was up front as Viking warriors, disorganized in the rush around to get over Harrowgate's ramparts, were unprepared to respond. Some of the Vikings turned to face the newcomers, while others pushed past them to get up the ladders and grapple launchers they were moving into position.

Joyeuse cut through the first few foot soldiers, poorly armed save for their round shields and straight swords. Immediately after, she was confronted a larger northman with a stolen longsword as Ashley smashed into the ranks to the left. Alberic rammed his poleaxe through another warrior's stomach and turned him into a makeshift shield, trampling through until he fell off. Legionnaires swarmed around as Joy knocked the Viking back and stabbed him in the head, moving on to cut through.

Caught off guard, outside a shield wall, and many still focusing on the archers and crossbowmen above who were still shooting as many projectiles as they could, the barbarians were unable to organize a cohesive defense, allowing the legionnaires gain a foothold to start pushing them back.

" _VALHALLA!"_

Joy looked up as she cut down another enemy as a burly warrior charged with shield and axe in hand flanked by a few others. Joy attacked the largest, blocking the axe and getting Dusk under the axe's head before pulling up. Caught off guard by her deflection and pulled closer, Joy decked him across the face with her elbow and shoved him back. Two swift cuts into his body sent the man to the ground and his axe clattered aside. She strode up and shoved Dusk into his heart through his mail shirt, then immediately shifted her guard to deflect another warrior's axe.

Before that warrior could recover, a legionnaire stabbed him in the side. "Got him, Warden!" he called.

"Berserker!" Ashley warned and Joy looked up, another enemy with two axes in hand rushing forward with wild abandon, no care for the arrow wedged in his knee, and too much spittle flying from his deranged face. He cut his way past the three legionnaires unfortunate enough to be in his way, two simply tossed aside with gashes in their brigandines and a third hacked to pieces with blinding speed by the axes. Then he came for her.

Joy immediately was on the defensive after trying for a quick swing, but the Berserker slid to the left away and struck, the blow of his axe bouncing off her shoulder plate. A second blow followed as she turned with it, chipping her elbow guard, and she had her blade in place in time for the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth attack at the same angle, each blow shaking her arms.

She felt Dusk cutting into her mail gloves as she two handed the block, but with the sixth blow she managed to deflect properly, and struck the Berserker in the face with the crossguard, tearing through his face. She followed through by stabbing him through the heart and kicking the corpse into another Viking.

"Look at that Warden go!" another soldier shouted.

"We just might win this!" another answered. "Come on, push!"

"Little help here!"

Joy looked up to see Ashley being pushed back by a pair of Vikings, one with a spear striking from behind his shield, the other with a dane axe that had wedged into her shield. Joy ran over as the axeman tugged his weapon out, the shield wielder moving to block her approach.

Pushing forward and ducking to the right as the spear came out, Joy threw herself at the man's shield as he over extended. She hit, and the spearman fell into his comrade before the two moved in, Joy shoving dusk into the spearman's mouth and the Conqueror dropping her flail on the axeman's head.

"Thanks," Ashley said as she looked up.

"To death, my enemy!" Alberic's cry echoed over as the two turned, wading in further as the Lawbringer brought his poleaxe down and shattered a round shield and the skull of the man behind it.

They were pushing them back. Fierce as they were, most of the northmen were rather lightly equipped - their shields and helmets being their primary protection. The Legions' metalworking spoke for itself, protecting the legionnaires and sergeants of the Iron Legion from wounds that debilitated their opponents. The Vikings had their mail, but many more had to rely on gambeson and some only had their helmets and shields.

And as the ram crew abandoned their work, they quickly realized that a semi-scattered group of operators, strong as they were to handle such a war machine, were not prepared to fight a Warden, a Conqueror, and a Lawbringer leading two and a half dozen angry legionnaires.

"Disable that ram!" Joy ordered as the enemy gave way and were falling back to the base of a round and open air tower with arches a level above.

"No good!" a sergeant shouted as he inspected it, "They're using metal chains - nothing we've got can break it!"

Joy winced. "We need fire!" She grabbed a nearby legionnaire and pointed to a nearby burning wagon. "See that fire? Get some of that onto the ram!"

"Y- yes milady!" the legionnaire answered as others were taking up positions around it. Looking ahead while they had a brief breather, she saw the next wave was coming more slowly. They were under the direction a warlord with a wolf's head as part of his helmet, standing on a bluff above and bellowing orders to the men coming up.

"That their commander?" Joy asked.

"Sub-commander probably," Alberic answered, "they're led by a Valkyrie, but we haven't seen her since…"

"Warden! WARDEN!"

Joy turned as a sergeant ran down from the gate they had left along with a few more soldiers. "Warden - it's Stone! His men are trapped!"

"Trapped?" she asked, frowning beneath her visor.

"The garrison," he pointed to a large stone structure to the left of the gate they had passed during the sally, "their catapults knocked out a hall and they barricaded them in!"

Joy winced. They had more Warborn coming in, the ram was still operable, and now the flanks?

"Ashley, Alberic, hold out here - I'm going to go get the reinforcements!"

"Go, we've got this!" the Lawbringer bellowed. "Men, form shields around me!"

As the legionnaires dug into formation before the ram, enemy archers were already taking up position in the plaza and along a broken bridge to the garrison. She had to take the flanks and fast - before the front was overwhelmed with some of the men having to keep their shields to the flank.

" _Keep them in there!"_ a woman within the garrison bellowed in Norse as Joy made her way up. _"The catapults will burn them to Hel's hall…"_

" _Knight!"_ another Viking with a claymore bellowed.

" _I'll take her!"_ the woman shouted, and Joy immediately dropped into her top guard as a Berserker leapt down the stairs with a coarse scream.

Seeing the woman's right handed sword and left handed small axe barreling down, Joy darted back to let them smack into the ground with a spray of sparks. The Berserker was quick on the uptake even as Joy tried to counter attack, parrying the blow and bringing her weapons around both sides in a wide arc.

Throwing herself to the left and bringing Dusk up to block the sword, she deflected the blow and the Berserker rolled with the sudden resistance, half spinning and striking at her side. The blow bit into her armor, but the partial plate had held off the axe, even if pain shot through her ribs.

Not that she had time to contemplate as Joy brought Dusk around to catch a flurry of follow up blows, both staggering back from each other to regain their footing. The Berserker was breathing heavily, weary from the exertion she had thrown at the Warden.

" _Is that it?"_ Joy taunted in their language. The Berserker seemed taken aback for a moment that she actually knew the language, and immediately launched into another attack. Joy deflected the first blow, and when the berserker tried again from the top she brought Dusk up to push the weapons away and the Berserker lost her footing, and soon after her head as Joy brought the longsword down and through the woman's neck.

Striding up the steps, the other Vikings were advancing slowly and hesitantly. Four foot soldiers and some household warrior with a sword and shield, loosely surrounding her.

Joy smiled and set to work.

XXXXXX

"Where is Valdis?" growled the wolf's head wearing warlord as he strode back to where the various leaders of the attack had gathered to direct the battle. "Is she still looking for those tunnels?"

"If anyone can find them, she can," a huscarl answered with a shrug that shook his mail visor. "It might be just what we need to end this."

"If the men Hakon took were still here I wouldn't worry, but half our remaining men are busy securing the outer walls for the Blackstone's arrival. And the Iron Legion is rallying!"

"To what, Sven, another Warden?" another clan leader sitting on a rock growled, sharpening his dane axe. "How many of those did we kill getting here?"

The warlord sighed. "Gustav how many times do I have to tell you - those weren't Wardens you killed, just knights with a longsword. The same way you claim the title Raider, but lack the legend to go with it."

The burly man without armor rose. "I'll have one soon enough, Warlord. Perhaps taking your head would add some flair to it."

Sven's Huscarl stood behind his lord as the other Vikings reached for their weapons.

"Stop!"

They turned as a woman with a spear and shield shouted, cutting them off and striding forward into the meeting. "Do you not remember why we are here - to finally defeat the Iron Legion?"

"Valdis," Sven growled as he looked at his cousin. "The Iron Legion is rallying."

"So they are," she acknowledged as she looked down the trail to the battle ahead. "I just received word from Hakon - the Blackstones have been slowed, but he cannot hold them for much longer and is preparing to fall back. He will need to retreat here, and we must be ready to get him inside."

"Then we need more men up here to keep our foothold," Sven explained as he pointed to the north wall - they were making their way up, but the cut off ladders was isolating their scalers. "I sent some men to cut off a garrison and flank the sally, but the Iron Legion's already pushed us from the far side of the gatehouse."

Valdis nodded. "Hold the courtyard, I'll gather the rest and reinforce you."

"Don't bother, I'll take care of the ram," Gustav growled as he strode forward. "Just watch!"

Sven sighed, shaking his head as the Raider led the best warriors of his clan into the fray.

"Hurry, Val," he said as he turned. "If the Blackstones catch us…"

"I know," she answered as she stepped back to start running. "I won't be long!"

XXXXXX

"Break damn you!"

"Sir, sir! They've barricaded it too well."

Stone bounced back from the door after throwing his weight against it for the third time. "Come on," he growled. "They're dying out there and we're standing here taking shits!"

"May as well before we die; less cleaning for the priests!"

Weak laughter echoed through the hall, blocked off from behind by the Viking artillery smashing into the passage and causing a collapse that had cut them off save for the sally port. And apparently, the Vikings had blocked it in on the other side.

"Hear that?" Stone asked as he heard violence on the other side of the door, then shuffling…

The door opened, and standing before him was a lone woman in black and orange heraldry, a Warden's shield engraved with a lion over her left breast.

"Come on, they've moved archers to the plaza!" the Warden beckoned.

"You heard her!" Stone shouted as he was grinning, "Let's go!"

The Warden led the way, Stone just behind her as they charged the archers that had taken up position on the bridge. Sparing a glance towards the citadel, Stone saw that they were retaking the southern wall around the main gate, but the north side was still thick with fighting. The courtyard was partially taken back and the sally force were locked in with a shield wall.

"Damn look at her go!" a sergeant cheered as Stone saw Joy cutting through the archers with her longsword as if they were not even there, and soon they ran into another group of Vikings.

"Another Berserker!" Joy warned.

"I've got him, get the archers!" Stone ordered, shield raised as he charged the Berserker. The Berserker had been running for Joy and she managed to deflect the blow, leaving the human beast on uneven footing.

Stone smashed into him with his shield, the barbarian bouncing back along the plaza and cursing something in Norse as he pushed himself back up. As he did, Stone moved forward, spinning up the flail before swinging it along the side in a wide arc.

The Berserker tried to dodge, but hit the stone wall ringing the plaza and the spiked ball tore through his stomach before being lodged in there. Giving it a sharp tug, Stone brought it around as he heard more yelling as more Vikings were pouring in.

"Archers take up position at the edge!" Stone bellowed, pointing to their new station. "Marcus, set up your men here to hold!"

As the men moved into position, Stone took a moment to look at the battle. The ram was now on fire, and he could make out Alberic eviscerating a dane axe wielding Viking with his poleaxe. They were starting to hold ground, but the enemy were still using the rounded bastion as a rally point to prepare more attacks up the wall, and they needed those men on the wall on the ground if they were going to clear the siege works.

"Can you hold here?" the Warden asked as she was looking at the bastion.

Stone glanced to the side and saw more Vikings were coming, then back to the Warden. "Yeah, we'll hold. What's your plan?"

"Clear the bastion, then wade into the lines! Don't wait for me!"

She sprinted off before Stone could get another word in, heading towards some of the ladders to the first level of stonework above the gatehouse that they had not properly dealt with during the push.

Then war cries echoed and Stone turned to see another wave coming for the plaza, and now he was short one Warden. "Oh fuck me…"

"Get into position!" a sergeant bellowed and the legionnaires locked their shields together along the stairs, leaving Stone in the middle to deal with the Vikings trying to vault up the stone fence.

"You heard him!"

"Shields together shields together!"

"Archers keep those shafts flying!"

"Spears at the ready - BRACE!"

The first Viking over the stone fence was another Berserker with twin swords who had two arrows sticking out of his right shoulder but they hardly slowed him down.

"How many of you guys are in this horde?!" Stone growled as he bashed the man back with his skull and set to work pounding the barbarian apart.

_Hope David's not dealing with this many,_ he hoped as he considered his second-in-command's position on the top of the walls. Taking a look over as he managed to kill the Berserker, Stone reckoned that if the Warden could ease the pressure off of the walls, they might just be able to recover.

XXXXX

Drawing her longsword as she made her way up the ladder, she heard a scream as she moved onto the wooden platform running over the walls, having to step back as an Iron Legion archer hit the planks with a sickening crunch. A glance up and she saw the fighting was still ongoing - if the Vikings kept reinforcing…

_Time to change that,_ she thought as she heard footsteps behind her and turned, but lowered her sword once she saw it was a trio of Iron Legionnaires coming out of the gatehouse.

"Warden," the first one said with a nod. "We saw you come up - we'll get the ladders!"

She nodded. "Thanks."

They were met on the other side by Vikings making their way to the ladders up, led by a huscarl with a large wooden shield and an axe. Joy threw herself at the huscarl, deflecting his axe to the side before knocking him back into the others.

The legionnaires were quick on the uptake, rushing in to stab the knocked down northmen as she advanced on the huscarl and plunged Dusk into his chest.

"That ballista is still working!" one of the legionnaires shouted as the last Viking was thrown over the side.

"Man it and start shooting!" she ordered, "I'll get the bastion!"

"Yes milady, we're on it!"

As the mounted crossbow began to fire into the enemy warriors below, Joy moved into the bastion itself. The round room had a large pot in the middle with a fire burning - and she was immediately on the defensive as a Raider charged in, bringing her dane axe around.

Joy grunted as she managed to stop the blow, catching the axe with both hands on Dusk, the axe just making it to her helmet. The northwoman pulled the axe up with little more than a scratch and Joy stepped back, head ringing and sword at the ready as the two began to move side to side. Other Vikings were surrounding the duel, egging them on in their harsh language as their archers fought on behind them.

" _Kill her!"_

" _Show her true Warborn might!"_

" _Get her out of the way, I want up the ladders!"_

Joy decided she needed to move first, feinted to the right as her opponent moved her axe in the same direction before going left. It worked and she was able to get off a pair of quick cuts, one cutting into the Warborn's right forearm and the second and deeper one through the thigh.

" _Armor might help,"_ Joy taunted in Norse as she grinned beneath her helmet. Raiders were legendary for their passion. And their refusal to wear armor - something even Berserkers did, even if they tended to wear less.

Despite the bleeding wounds, the Raider snarled and swung her axe in a wild and wide arc. _"I'll tear you to pieces!"_

Joy tried to block, but the blow smashed through with the sheer force and Joy felt herself slam into the stone wall, and something hot running down her side. The Raider's axe swung around further but she managed to bring it back under control, grinning beneath the horned helmet she wore.

" _Armor is nothing!"_

"Not really," Joy muttered in her native Latin by instinct and pushed herself back up - that wound was going to hurt, but it did not feel too deep. She immediately moved forward again as the Raider brought the axe around for a quick top strike with the butt of the axe.

Joy parried the blow to the side with her sword, and the Raider ducked before Dusk came around. Yet the northwoman's momentum, unbalanced by the parry, took her into those watching. With the leg wound making it difficult for her opponent to get back up, Joy seized the opportunity.

Swinging Dusk in an arc in front of her, she felt the sword graze against a round shield of one foot soldier, then cut into the exposed stomach of the Warborn woman, cutting through and spraying blood over the tattoos the woman had. Then the blade left and Joy brought the thoroughly bloodied sword back into her right guard.

The Vikings were recoiling from the shock, and Joy pushed forward, shoving them into each other and cutting through as she made her way forward to the archers and ladders.

" _Keep shooting, they don't have the numbers to…"_

" _Look out!"_ a second northern archer warned as they realized that a Warden had closed in. They turned and tried to draw their short swords, but it was too late and Joy was already cutting through and throwing them down the ladders those archers had been guarding.

Rustling behind her made her turn to defend, but instead she saw several Iron Legion knights, bloodied and in damaged armor, with the leader in partial plate carrying a longsword. He was no Warden, though, instead wearing a tabard with a six pointed star.

"Good job," the knight said as he glanced back to the carnage inside. "I've got men taking care of the ladders, let's keep the Vikings back!"

"Let's push them out entirely, the Blackstone Legion is on the way!" she called, pointing down the ladder to the battle. The Vikings were beginning to be pushed back, the ballista right above them throwing their shield wall in disarray and the rallying Iron Legionnaires were pushing through despite their exhaustion.

The knight looked down, then nodded. "Sir Edward, get every legionnaire up front - let the castle staff get the ladders!"

A knight went back, and Joy turned to the nearest ladder the Vikings had used to climb up and slid down one. A Viking as climbing up with a seaxe in hand, but she knocked him down as her feet ran over his hands and he fell below. Landing, she immediately began swinging as the other knights followed her into the Viking's unprotected flank.

The attackers, once confident in victory save for futile if stubborn resistance, were beginning to lose their cohesion. They were not routing, not yet, but the sudden sally, the surge that supported it and lost them the flanks, and now the Iron Legion's own archers were raining death from where they thought they had allies. The Vikings were backing off, made cowards by confusion even as they tried to fight on bravely. The Iron Legion was gaining ground.

_They just need a final push,_ she realized as she cut down another foot soldier, and could hear the Iron Legion's shouting over the din.

"They're giving ground!"

"Get out of our home!"

"Lead on, Warden!"

"Hah! We're actually winning!" Stone's voice cut over the battlefield, cracking in the Conqueror's sheer disbelief.

XXXXX

"What's going on?!" Valdis demanded as she strode back, bringing with her most of the other warriors.

"It's that Warden," Sven growled as he was in the middle of organizing the survivors to counter-attack. "She's rallied the Iron Legion and drove us off the walls! The men, they're confused!"

Valdis grimaced beneath her helmet. "I'll…"

"Rider!"

The cry echoed from behind and she turned as a man on a tired horse rode up, panting as he almost slumped off. He was bruised and bloodied beneath his mail, and his nasal helmet had several crossbow bolts sticking out of it and had cracked.

"The Blackstones!" he shouted, "They're coming! They shattered us, their Lawbringer executed Hakon, impaled him straight through! They're right behind us!"

Those were the worst words they could have heard.

"It's lost!"

"We can't take them and the Blackstones!"

"We just lost half our army?!"

"The gods have abandoned us!"

Valdis herself said nothing, stepping back as the weight of it rested on her shoulders. This was her raid - she had gone from settlement to settlement in Ashfeld to gather the warriors from the Warborn colonies. She had attracted adventurers from Valkenheim eager to be part of the final sack of Harrowgate, to crush the defiant symbol of the Iron Legion. Two thousand warriors...

They had followed her, eager to fight for their place in Valhalla even as she fought so others could enter its halls. She thought that she had it, having scouted out Harrowgate and isolated its supporting outposts to prevent the Iron Legion from mustering its full, if diminished, strength. Having pulled off a daring raid on the Blackstone Legion to steal the needed siege engines to break down the sanctuary's fortifications. She thought that, at last, they would have their lasting victory with Harrowgate's fall, and the Iron Legion would finally be driven out of Ashfeld.

"And the All-Father humbles us in our hubris," she finally whispered as the stories her mother had sung to her of overbold heroes rang through her mind. Closing her eyes, she understood - she had moved on to preparing for the next battle when she had not won the first, trusting the warriors who followed her to finish the Iron Legion while she surveyed the ground to plan their defense against the Blackstone reinforcements.

"One more push, Val," Sven whispered as he grabbed her by her spear arm, "We can still pull this off. It's been a good raid, let's end it on a high note and shatter the Iron Legion."

She looked beyond to the burning sanctuary, and steadied herself with a deep breath. Maybe if they won they would be able to give the Blackstones the slip, but she put the thought aside. She had to win this battle first.

"Warriors, follow me!" she called, moving ahead with those who were still brave enough to face whatever end the gods had decided for them. She intended to meet hers with open arms.

XXXXX

"This is our land!" Joy bellowed as she kicked a Warborn thegn off her sword as they pushed them back into the forest.

"They can't take much more of this, keep pushing!" Alberic bellowed as he pointed his poleaxe along the road.

They were winning - she knew it. They just needed to hit the Vikings hard enough that wavering became shattering. And the opportunity came as Joy cut down another Viking footman, a loud cry ringing throughout the battle as the corpse hit the ground.

" _Stop!"_

Joy looked up as she saw a Warborn woman stepping over a fallen tree, face obscured behind her helmet. Her body was protected with mail as well, worn under a sleeveless fur coat, and a small shield on her left arm. All of her equipment was painted with blue markings, and with the long blond hair sticking past it…

"Valkyrie," Joy almost whispered to herself as the woman dropped down and entered her guard.

" _I'll end that one!"_

Realizing the challenge, Joy saluted the Valkyrie with her longsword. "I've got the leader!" Joy shouted to the nearby legionnaires.

"She's all yours, Warden!" Stone bellowed back and the battle seemed to pause for a moment as the surrounding warriors began to back away from the imminent duel. Around them the battle raged on, but the fighters on both sides seemed to want to have a safe distance from the duel. A wise choice, as Joy quickly realized when she and the Valkyrie began to fight.

_She's good,_ Joy decided as the Valkyrie's sweeping motions with her spear and use of both ends meant that Joy had to keep track of it in its entirety rather than just the pointy end - and that was before she had to deal with the shield being used as a weapon as well. They both needed space to avoid hitting their own side as they clashed.

The Valkyrie dodged back as Joy tried to get a quick blow across the side, shield at the ready to push forward…

Joy darted back as the Valkyrie charged forward with the shield, pushing where she had been a moment ago. _Not falling for that!_ Joy thought as she made a note to thank Brandon for his use of a similar trick all the time when she wrote home.

Joy struck forward, bringing Dusk down for a high blow to punish the Valkyrie's over extension. The Warborn woman managed to get her spear in place, but the force of the blow pushed it down and the blow struck her gauntlet, stopped by the mail but as they disengaged Joy knew her opponent had been hurt.

They circled again for another moment, both of them glancing to the sides as the battle raged around them and Stone was locked in an extended headbutt exchange with a rather beefy Warlord with a wolf's head helmet as the two were pinned together by the fighting.

Moving forward, Joy feinted to the left to draw the Valkyrie's shield away before switching to a top down blow again. The Valkyrie was quicker on the uptake this time, deflecting the blow away with the shield and as Joy was moved to the right by the momentum, she felt the spear striking her chest.

Joy gasped in shock as she was forced back and felt pain shoot through her body, but her Warden's plate had stopped the blow from penetrating too deeply through the armor beneath.

Not that the Valkyrie sought to do so as she pulled back and launched into an offensive, bringing three more blows in quick succession. Left, right, then left again too quick for Joy to change her guard in time. The next blow glanced along her side and she felt the chill as the spear tip grazed where the Raider had earlier managed to get a cut.

Biting back a curse, Joy threw her weight into her opponent as they were close and as she staggered, struck. The two swift cuts hit along the Valkyrie's arms, damaging the mail and drawing blood, but the mail had done her foe as well as her own armor was doing for her.

They were back to facing off as they disengaged, eying each other's wounds and pointed weapons. They were close enough that they could strike but matching positions as they tried each other's reflexes. One would blink first, they just had to wait for the moment.

Joy went forward, feinting with her top guard. The Valkyrie moved to counter, but Joy followed up, pushing the spear back and counter striking in the same motion.

"Die!" Joy shouted as she cut along the Valkyrie's chest and followed through, thrusting her longsword into the Valkyrie's stomach. Penetrating through mail and flesh alike, Joy moved closer and elbowed her opponent, throwing her off the sword.

The Viking leader staggered, losing her grip on her spear and collapsed to her knees. Staring up as blood spilled from her wounds, Joy's opponent stared at her with with eyes.

Then the Valkyrie wordlessly opened her arms, and Joy brought Dusk around to behead her opponent.

The head bounced along the ground, rolling before several Vikings - including the Warlord that Stone had been headbutting who was bleeding with his helmet cracked. The Warlord stared widely at it, then the advancing Iron Legion as Stone was striding forward with a pair of knights behind him.

Then he looked to the carnage around him, and bellowed one word that, while perhaps the wise move for a commander in such a position, shattered the invaders' cohesion beyond recovery.

" _Retreat!"_

XXXXX

When he saw the fires of Harrowgate's sanctuary, Holden Cross was prepared for a grisly sight.

When he saw the fleeing Vikings in the distance, he wondered if perhaps he had been too late and they were fleeing with a ravaged sanctuary as their victory.

When he sent the Blackstone cavalry after them and rode for Harrowgate itself, he was prepared to find corpses, perhaps one he had sent alone just hours before.

What he did not expect to see as he cleared the woods was the Iron Legion's banner flying proudly over the front gate, held by an all too happy Lawbringer in armor practically falling off of him, and cheering Iron Legionnaires. And standing below that banner was a Conqueror in a spiked kettle helmet and...

"Joyeuse," Holden smiled beneath his helmet. "God looks after the brave after all…"

"Sir," the lone knight who had remained with Holden as he had sent the cavalry forward asked, "What should I tell Sir Davis and the rest of the army?"

"Tell them that we're setting out in pursuit of the Vikings," he answered. "I'll join you in a minute, I need to check in with the garrison."

"Sir," the knight bowed his head and rode south, leaving him to approach Harrowgate.

The Iron Legionnaires were busy mopping up still, but as he approached the gate Joy saw him and pointed him out.

"BLACKSTONE!" the commander bellowed, "Thanks for the reinforcement!"

Holden was not sure if it was sarcastic or not, but he was beyond caring. "How's the garrison doing?"

"We're just mopping up some stragglers! The rest are fleeing - can you run them down for us?"

"We will!" he answered. "Warden!"

"Yes?" she called back.

"Give the Iron Legion whatever help they need and hold Harrowgate - I'm going to deal with these Vikings once and for all." He tugged on the horse's reins with his free hand. "I'll send Yarwick's engineers to help you with the fort!"

"Much obliged, Blackstone!" the Iron Legion commander answered.

XXXXXX

Within Harrowgate itself, one poor Viking warrior had managed to survive despite being disemboweled earlier by an Iron Legionnaire's spear during the retreat and being ran over by the pursuing warriors. As he tried to crawl forward, to reach his sword, footsteps echoed behind him.

Then he saw a leather boot, and felt it crushing his hand. He cried in pain despite trying to stop himself, and could only look on in terror as the man's flail hung just above the ground and his killer began to swing. Then he brought it down onto his head.

Joy walked up to the Conqueror that put that poor warrior out of his misery, a slight sway in her steps as the blood loss from the wounds she had taken was extracting its toll. But she had gotten off mildly compared to others who were enduring worse. They had seen Ashley being carried away with arrows sticking out of her and her helmet nearly cut open by an axe. And David, the knight who had joined her in the bastion? He had an axe partway through his arm that had been embedded by one Berserker trying to hold an alleyway alone, who was promptly gutted by David's rondel dagger.

"Not bad, Blackstone," Stone said, weaker than he had been before and taking deep breaths. "Not bad at all. Pretty sure I could have done it by myself, but…"

Beneath her helmet, Joy smirked as the two turned, looking at each other. Then Stone offered a hand, and Joy took it, the two shaking firmly with a faint laugh before looking out at the carnage. Other Iron Legionnaires were still taking out the last few living Vikings, wounded beyond the skill of even the best surgeons, and at last Harrowgate was no longer deafened by battle.

They stood there, simply watching as Joy's heart was pounding. She had done it - gone into a garrison about to fall, and then helped turn the tide. It was all the legends she had grown up with made flesh - by her hands.

It was a hard feeling to describe - a certain weightlessness, that she was beyond mundane suffering and had transcended that into something greater. Yet a weight - her armor, the exhaustion from throwing herself into battle, the wounds she knew she would need to get looked at even if her armor stopped the worst of it. And even then, relief. Relief that it was over, that they had won.

"You're one of the best," she finally said. "I've never seen a better Conqueror."

"High praise from a Warden," he answered with a shrug. "Think bards will stop using us as tyrants now?"

She chuckled - the artists always seemed to use Conquerors as the villains, usually pitted against a Warden as the legends that survived of their earliest days spoke of the Wardens fighting knights who subjugated the helpless for their own benefit. But she knew that Conquerors were no more inherently likely to be cruel than any other warrior. And Stone?

Joy had seen him fighting at the front, only stepping back as command demanded of him. He was still one of the warriors. The kind of man she would be proud to fight alongside - and maybe one day die fighting alongside, but not that day.

"Gah, this thing's too hot," the larger man growled, passing his flail into his shield hand and undoing the straps of his helmet before pulling it off. As it came off, Joy saw a scarred and almost squared face, caked in sweat with unkempt facial hair. And his brown eyes were half closed and bloodshot from exhaustion.

Yet despite all that, he still smiled.

"Heard you screaming something at them," he said. "Didn't know Wardens could speak Norse."

"We're diplomats too," she admitted with a shrug as she started undoing her helmet's straps. Learning multiple languages was probably one of the best things her mother had insisted on. "Not that I ever really had to use it."

As she pulled her helmet off and shook her head, feeling some of the sweat that had been clinging to her fly off along with the grime, she looked Stone over and noticed he was lacking certain symbols on his tabard she had expected. "So, what're the other Iron Commanders doing?"

"Other?" Stone asked as he glanced at her and snorted. "I'm just a garrison commander. The actual Iron Commander here died two winters ago and we never had a replacement."

She frowned. "I knew the Iron Commanders could be petty, but…"

"Yeah. I told them she nominated me as her successor, but they wouldn't hear it and had the messenger with the last batch of supplies, half of what I expected, chide me for thinking above my station." He held his arms out as if speaking to a crowd. "I'm just a lowly convict who managed to earn a knighthood by being that fucking good, what am I supposed to know?"

"Well, you know what the artists do…"

"Yeah, use us as their reference for villains. What, is it the spikes?"

Joy glanced at his helmet then almost did a double take as she realized what it had also been adorned with. "Or the skull glued onto your helmet."

Stone glanced at it, frowning for a moment before blinking. "Oh, that? A Raider once threatened to drink from my skull. I promised to wear his on my helmet. And well, I don't need to tell a Warden about a knight's word…"

"No you don't," she admitted as she let herself smirk. Vikings were far too prone to such violent promises… not that knights were unhappy to return them.

"Anyways, castle staff's busy tending to the wounded in the main hall." He glanced at her briefly.

"Where is the main hall? I should get these wounds checked," she admitted.

"Follow me," he said, gesturing her along and leading her past the ram that had been put out when the gate was opened.

As she stepped inside she noticed the faded walls - what had once been decorated with painted walls and tapestries now stood flaked murals and tapestries faded and torn. The statues along the walls were in better shape, but most of them were still damaged.

"So, what happens now?"Joy asked as they passed a statue of a Lawbringer.

"That depends on what the final tally is, but I'm expecting it to be ugly. We got most of the people in the town below into the sanctuary when the gates began to fall, but we only had two hundred or so men left when you showed up."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you just saved our asses," he waved his hand as they reached the open double doors into the main hall where numerous legionnaires, knights, sergeants, and others were getting their wounds tended.

One man - a servant, given his simple clothing - stepped up towards them. "Commander Stone… ah," he bowed as he saw her. "Warden, it is an honor."

"Thank you," she dipped her head back. "Is there anyone free to check my injuries?"

"We have several healers - follow me, I'll get you seated and you can wash up. And you, Commander?"

"I'm fine," he waved his hand, "How's David?"

"Sir David is being treated now - they need to amputate his arm. Infection."

"Damn," Stone cursed. "Alright, tell me when he wakes up. In the meantime, if anyone needs me I'm clogging a latrine."

"I'll let them know, sir."

"Thanks… and thanks again for everything else," Stone added as he took a step back and looked at her. After Joy nodded, he left and the servant led her to one of the long tables along the wall.

Countless wounded were lining the halls - some sleeping off severe injuries or unconscious, others wincing as the castle's staff or men and women of the cloth were lending their aid. The screaming in the hall was down to a minimum, but as she saw one particularly wounded man being led out of the hall she suspected that they were doing the more severe treatments like amputation in another room, probably where the castle's surgeon resided.

There was a disquiet in the hall, but as she was moving through she saw that the tired soldiers were taking in water skins being brought out after regular refilling, or leaving mentioning going to find something to eat. Battle, especially lengthy sieges, never allowed for the niceties of living once they were underway, and could rage for hours.

"Here, Warden," the servant said as he pointed her to an open space along the table. A few rags and a wash basin had been set down nearby, and looked to be clean enough. "I need to tend to other duties, but I'll tell them you're here."

"Thank you," she said as she sat down, lay her helmet on the table nearby, and looked into the basin. She was filthy - her face was caked by drying sweat, but she had avoided the worst of it - if only because her armor had encased her. Even then, she had to muse on what some of the court ladies in Sandshore would have said.

_Probably irritation at getting so dirty,_ she decided as one of the castle's maids stepped from the crowd, carrying rags, bloodied needles, and thread to close wounds with.

"It's an honor, Warden," she said as she set them down nearby.

"Thanks," she answered as she lifted her arm so she could reach the axe wound more easily.

It had been far more mild than Joy had expected - it got through her mail, but blocking with Dusk had slowed the momentum down enough to stop it from being worse than a cut. Of course, she was going to have a nasty bruise there and her ribs were sore, but if that was the most she had to deal with she could live with it.

XXXXX

"Surprised to see you this far down Warden," Stone said as he saw Joy standing just outside the sanctuary's chapel, the predominant structure in Harrowgate's town. The Vikings had looted it, and the windows remained smashed and the door had been kicked in, but most of the stonework remained intact.

"It takes me forever to fall asleep after a fight," she explained as she glanced back. "Besides, the Blackstones are going to be taking over garrisoning while your men recover."

"Good thing too, I don't have the men… so, how long are you staying?"

She shrugged. "Until I'm given orders otherwise. Cross should still be chasing them down, but I don't know how far he'll be able to track them at this time of night."

"There's a full moon," he gestured up briefly. "But yeah, some of those Warborn are just going to pull a rearguard and tie pursuit down."

"Cross probably won't be too long… so, how're your men?"

"Tired, wounded… and a bit ecstatic," Stone explained as he thought back to the men he had been able to talk to after getting his wounds tended. "We just won a battle we had lost, but too many good people died, too many to hold the fort."

"I'd volunteer to stay, but…"

"Yeah, you're sworn to the Blackstones." Stone rested his hands on his waist, shaking his head. They had held on, but he knew the victory had broken them. They simply took too many losses.

"So what happens to Harrowgate now, once you've mourned your dead?" Joy asked as she looked towards the keep on the plateau above.

"Depends on what the final tally looks like, but right now? I'm barely quarter strength. We lost a lot of men falling back to the sanctuary itself - tried to organize a proper retreat…"

"... but it turned into a rout when the Vikings pushed on," she finished with a grimace.

"Exactly. I'm going to need a couple years of peace to get this all put back together, especially if the Iron Commanders don't realize the crisis situation we're in here." He put a hand on his forehead, shaking. "I'm glad you came, but to call this a mess is an understatement."

They waited quietly for a few moments as the issue lingered, until finally Stone decided he wanted to move on to something slightly more cheerful. Not that he had a chance as a horn sounded and they had to hurry to the gates.

"It's Cross," Joy said as they reached the gate and saw a column of legionnaires and knights making their way to the sanctuary, led by the Lawbringer in command. They stopped just before it, the Warden briefly glancing at the now helmetless head that had been piked before it - the Valkyrie that she had killed earlier, put up as a warning to any Viking stragglers.

Stone nodded as he looked at them, then back to Harrowgate where smoke still rose from the put out fires. _Time for gratitude,_ he thought as he stepped forward. "Commander Cross," he said as he dipped his head. "Thank you for your assistance."

The Lawbringer returned the gesture. "You're welcome," he said as he removed his helmet. "Unfortunately, I also have some bad news."

"What do you mean?"

"Apollyon sent me a missive that I was to give you afterwards," he explained as he turned and nodded to a herald. The man strode forward and passed it to Stone. It bore the seal of the Iron Commanders. Ripping it off, Stone read it over and as he did he felt his gut tightening.

"Those lazy bastards," Stone snarled through his teeth as he reached the end. "We fucking died to shield them from the Vikings, and now this?!"

"What happened?" Joy asked as she looked at him.

"The Iron Commanders are giving up Ashfeld," he explained as he passed it to her. "The Iron Legion is to withdraw to Belvoir Castle to await reassignment to different commanders, and the Blackstone Legion are now the rightful protectors of Ashfeld."

"They don't even know how bad it is here, why are they…" the Warden started as she looked through.

"They don't care, and Ashfeld's been a money latrine for them," Stone growled as the exchanges of letters the past year went through his mind. "You know what, fuck 'em. They want to abandon Ashfeld and let Apollyon take command, let them. Cross, I'm in."

The Lawbringer nodded. "You're welcome to join - Apollyon talked the Iron Commanders into letting us recruit anyone who's willing to stay."

Stone nodded firmly. This was not something he had expected, but as he looked to Joy as the young Warden was reading it over, he reckoned that this was probably for the best. The Iron Legion in Ashfeld had become a shell of its former self, and without support it was not going to survive. And most of Ashfeld's Iron Legion were native to the region, going to the Iron Commanders meant abandoning their homes.

Between joining a new legion and going to serve some stuck up royals, most in Ashfeld would only accept once choice.

"I'll go deliver the news to my men, but I've only got one request."

"What is it?" Cross asked.

"Assuming he recovers from his amputation, I want my second-in-command, Sir David Hawthorne, to become the new commander of Harrowgate," he explained. "He's a good man, loyal, and held the walls as your Warden cleared a path for us to rout the Vikings. He might not be able to fight anymore, but I trust him, and so do Harrowgate's people."

"You're not staying?" Joy asked as she turned, eyes wide.

"The Vikings almost broke us," Stone growled as he closed his eyes. "We need to shove them out if we're going to recover. And well, we were about to lose Ashfeld entirely before the Blackstones started raising hell up north. I figure that if we're going to drive the Vikings out, it's going to be the Blackstones in the vanguard. And if the Iron Legion is leaving… we need a single army now more than ever."

"What's your take on this, Warden?" Cross asked as he looked at her.

Joy glanced at him, then back to her commander. "Stone's one of the best Conquerors I've seen, and leads from the front. If he's willing, we won't regret it."

"In that case, welcome to the Blackstone Legion." Cross passed his helmet to the same hand he was holding his poleaxe and held his now free hand out. Stone took it and shook.

As they let go, Cross glanced to a herald. "Send word to Apollyon."

"Saying?"

"That we shattered the Viking army, and that Harrowgate was saved by our new recruit. And make sure you mention her by name - she's earned that."

Stone saw Joy smiling out of the corner of his eye.

"Of course. Anything else?"

"Yes. Tell her that I'm going to need to leave some men to garrison it, so it's unlikely we'll make the rendezvous in the moors unless she can send some additional forces."

The herald bowed. "My lord."

"Harrowgate's hospitality is yours, Commander," Stone said as he took a step back and gestured into the sanctuary. "For what it's worth."

"We brought our own supplies - find us room to quarter, and we'll be fine."

"There's a large park on the hillside, though you'll need to remove the dead from the walkways," Joy nodded up along the path up to the plateau.

"Good, that'll do for now. Lead on, Joyeuse."

She dipped her head briefly and the Blackstone regiments began to make their way inside. He managed to make eye contact with Joy before she left, and she smiled briefly before moving on, leaving Stone standing there as the regiments began to make their way inside.

That Warden… somehow, he had a feeling this was going to be the start of a very strange friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a quick note with the languages - I'm generally just going to translate into English and mention via narration if a different language is used, maybe italicize some of it to highlight it's not meant to be the perspective's "native" language. Overall I think it's just a headache and unless it really works for a scene, I don't want to have random languages being shouted. I might leave some titles like thegn or daimyo untranslated, but I'll try to keep that to a minimum.


	5. March on Savona

_Robert,_

_Things have changed greatly since my last letter, and for the better. I am no longer serving Hervis Daubeny, who I now know had betrayed the Blackstone Legion last year to take Westhold for himself. After a battle there, I was knighted into the Blackstone Legion to take the fight to the Vikings. I do not know if you have heard, but the Iron Legion has abandoned Ashfeld and left the Blackstones to be our new bulwark against foreign invasion._

_I'm not alone though - after my first battle as a Legion Knight I was sent to relieve Harrowgate. The commander, a Conqueror named Stone, joined the Blackstones as well after being abandoned by the Iron Commanders. Most of his men followed suit. I like him - he remains confident despite betrayal by his lords and how close he came to failure, and fights alongside his men._

_Our direct commander is Holden Cross, a Lawbringer and the Blackstone Legion's second in command. He reminds me a lot of our father, or at least what I remember of him. Firm, but cares for those under his protection and command. The fact he knighted me into the Legion after I killed his second in a trial by combat regarding Daubeny still bothers me, but Cross seems to see something in me. I am not sure what it is, though, but it is not revenge._

_Still, I am going to be on the move for the rest of the year. The Blackstone Legion has undertaken a campaign to drive the Vikings out of Ashfeld entirely, and I am going to be a part of that. I will try to write as I can, but I may not be able to receive letters._

_Your Sister,_

_Joyeuse_

_PS: Also, thank Brandon for using his shield too much when we spar - the Viking commander at Harrowgate tried the exact same trick._

XXXXXX

She had sent that letter that morning, handing it off to Geofrey so the herald could arrange for it to be sent, along a letter to Anastasis about Daubeny's conduct. Then she was sent on a mission, to go to a small village near off the road that had a wooden keep with orders to deal with Vikings there.

It was all part of the Blackstone's southern campaign, which ultimately was working up towards laying siege to Savona, the eastern port on the inner sea of Eitriualen. It was also the main Warborn settlement in southern Ashfeld, and where the survivors from Harrowgate would retreat to if they had not fled all the way to Valkenheim.

Although they had shattered the besieging army, the Vikings had managed to disentangle themselves from their pursuers. Yet they had also utterly disintegrated - reduced to scattered bands of raiders incapable of organizing a proper attack, yet still enough to cause trouble for the various manors, hamlets, and villages that dotted southern Ashfeld. Harrowgate was a devastating, if costly, victory for the knights - but it was far from complete.

Which brought her to her task that day, as a former Iron Legionnaire pointed out their destination to her.

"And there it is Warden, the village of Langden."

Joyeuse frowned as she saw the banners flying from the keep at the center of the village. "Roul, you didn't say that Langden was a Warborn settlement."

"Only recently," the man exhaled as he shook his head. "We abandoned it a few years ago, and never had the strength to push this far. The people had time to leave, but most wanted to stay and defend, including my parents…"

_Another one…_ she realized before simply gripping Dusk by the hilt and drawing. "Then today we'll take it back."

Roul managed a small smile as they moved back down the hill to the group of warriors that had been put under her command for the task.

It was a small group, a dozen men consisting of a mix of Gryphon and Visage Legion survivors. They had tried to relieve Harrowgate, but they had been broken by the effort and it was likely they would be fully absorbed by the Blackstones now that the Iron Commanders had abandoned Ashfeld. But with her in the lead, it would be enough to deal with whatever Viking warriors came out to face them.

Giving the order forward, Joy was up front and quickly the Warborn in the settlement tried to mobilize - cries of the Blackstone Legion coming caused bells to ring and a few guards took up position on the main road towards the keep.

As they approached, Joy held up her hand to halt, and strode forward to look at the men. "Warborn!" she shouted at them, "Your occupation has ended - throw down your arms, and you don't have to die!"

One of the guards, wearing only gambeson for protection besides his helmet and shield, strode forward and pointed is spear at her and gave an answer in somewhat broken Latin. "We won't surrender to you, Blackstone demons!"

Shaking her head, Joy turned to the troops behind her. "Attack!"

The battle was over quickly - though they fought hard, the Warborn defenders were unable to organize a cohesive formation and came in piecemeal due to having to get their equipment on as the attack began.

The main opposition came from the Warborn thegn, a burly man with a longsword and mail he almost certainly had taken from a knight he slew. He had come out last, clearly having only just thrown his armor on, but Joy defeated him while the others broke to pursue stragglers.

"Any wounded?" she asked as she stood over the dead thegn's body.

"Few cuts and scrapes, but nothing our armor couldn't stop," Roul answered as he strode up, sword bloody from use. "Should we spread out to gather the heads of household?"

"Is there any reason not to? They need to be told what's happening."

"Not that I know of. Same as before?"

She nodded. "Any man looting answers to me."

It took some time, but soon they had gathered and Joy found herself standing before a crowd. The populace was a mix - while still mostly Ashfelders, she could make out a couple who were clearly Warborn by the way they dressed.

"People of Langden," Joy started as she wished she had time to properly clean herself, "I stand before you on behalf of Lord Holden Cross, a Lawbringer and second in command of the Blackstone Legion. The Warborn occupation of your home is over. However, you will not be able to return to the Iron Legion, as the Iron Commanders have chosen to withdraw from Ashfeld entirely."

That demoralized the Ashfelders in the crowd, but the few Warborn she could make out were growing ever more fearful.

"The Blackstone Legion has been tasked by them with being our bulwark against foreign invasion, and with it comes the same expectations of fealty and pledge of protection."

"What of Harrowgate - the Vikings were routed from it!" a townsman shouted.

"Commander Stone lives, and chose to join the Blackstones rather than be taken south by the Iron Commanders," she continued, which seemed to reassure the men of Ashfeld. "We march on Savona, so do not fear being abandoned again - soon the Warborn will have no place from which to enslave you."

The Warborn settlers in the crowd were quite pale by this point, whispering in terror as she finally turned her attention towards one small group. And, to her worry, some were looking at the Warborn with a predatory gaze.

"To the Warborn who settled our lands, you have two choices. You can accept the rightful rulers of Ashfeld and give them the same loyalty that any other man would, or you can go back to Valkenheim. Those who leave will do so with safe passage from the Blackstone Legion."

"And if we swear fealty?" a Warborn woman asked. "What will happen to us?"

"Those who swear fealty will be entitled to the same rights and protections any other man would have," Joy answered as she made a point of casting a glare towards one of the more smug looking Ashfelders, whose expression faltered. "But rights taken from Ashfeld's people will be restored to them, including land stolen."

No one else raised their voice, and after checking the sun's position in the sky quickly, she finished. "Return to your homes and discuss the matter with your families. You have until an hour past noon to decide to leave or swear fealty."

In the two hours they had to discus the matter, Joy spent most of it going around to deal with disputes that were quickly rising or reassuring those who wished to leave that the offer was no trick. When she was not dealing with that, she was making sure that the Warborn corpses were removed from the hamlet to be buried.

Yet as she worked, the repetitiveness of these excursions gnawed at her. It seemed every time she came to drive out Vikings from one of the settlements along their route, it was the same story. The Iron Legion had to abandon their people - the only thing that changed was how and why they were abandoned.

XXXXXX

"Ah, Warden," Holden said as he saw her enter the command tent that evening. "Any trouble with Langden?"

"A thegn and some Warborn fought back, but we killed them with no casualties. Langden's people have bent the knee to the Blackstone Legion, and the Warborn farmers who refused left for Valkenheim."

"Good. We're making excellent progress, the others sent out came back with the same story. Some have even reported the Warborn fleeing before they arrived."

Looking down at the map again, Holden allowed himself to smile. The campaign was going far better than he had hoped given how it started. Since Harrowgate, much of their effort was spent trying to run down the Vikings who routed and dealing with the many small time independents who remained in the area. While rarely controlling more than a manor or small fort, the Blackstones needed the men. The victory at Harrowgate proved most useful in that regard, inspiring the petty lordlings and knights to take up arms with them.

They were also able to reconnect with the Iron Legion outposts the Vikings had isolated leading up to the siege, bringing those troops back into play. Most went to Harrowgate to shore up the garrison there, and all of them joined the Blackstone Legion. Stone proved instrumental in that regard, as well as convincing the survivors of minor legions that had failed to relieve Harrowgate like the Gryphon and Visage Legion troops that had accompanied Joyeuse to Langden.

All in all, he felt good in what was going on. But as he looked to the Warden, he noticed that she was frowning. "Something bothering you, Warden?"

"Just thinking," she answered, "Every time I go to one of these settlements, someone doubts the integrity of the leaving offer, even though Apollyon herself issued that decree."

Holden paused for a moment, considering before he gave an answer. "We had some debate amongst the warlords as what exactly they would be, and the demon names does not endear trust easily."

"No, they don't," she admitted as she shook her head. "Forget I said anything. So, Savona? We're ready to attack?"

"We just need to wait for Dame Vorena's contingent to return from Harrowgate," he explained as he looked down at the map. "Stone should be back soon with the men from that last outpost, which will ensure we have the manpower to take Savona and eradicate the Vikings from southern Ashfeld."

"It shouldn't be lengthy - after Harrowgate, an army arriving to liberate them might spark a rebellion against the invaders."

The Lawbringer's mouth twitched for a moment before he inhaled. "I would not count on it. Those that weren't killed or enslaved by the Vikings are sheep keeping their heads down."

"They conquered Ashfeld with no more than force of arms. The more oppressive they have to be to keep order, the worse it breaks."

"If you have a man that can tell us how the people in Savona feel, I'd be glad to hear about it. A spy opening a gate for us would be exactly what we need."

Joy shook her head. "I've made some friends, but all of them are south of here."

_Shame,_ he thought briefly before putting it aside. An easy way inside was a fantasy - even if one that he would be happy to have become real. "Regardless, we will discuss the details once Vorena's contingent is back. Go deal with anything you need to and get some rest, Warden."

"My lord," Joyeuse bowed her head. He dismissed her with an off-handed gesture and looked down at the map, towards the villages and small keeps they would be checking on the way to Savona.

Yes, the Blackstones had offered relatively generous terms, but that had been a lengthy argument. Half of the warlords wanted to simply exterminate the entirety of the Warborn settlers - to do to them what they had done to Ashfeld, with interest for decades of squatting and more of raiding. Yet others were worried that it would be used by rivals as a reason to attack them, and they would need time to consolidate all of Ashfeld.

But after some prodding, Holden had gone forward with a suggestion that Ademar had proposed: to give the Warborn a chance to walk away. No one expected it to work, but it put the blame on the Vikings' shoulders if they chose to stand their ground. And when the Iron Commanders offered to cede Ashfeld, he pushed for it even harder as a way to pacify those who would see the Blackstones as occupiers. Apollyon made the final decision.

" _Let the sheep run around, those who stay will either give us no trouble or will have a braveness worth respecting."_

She had said that as she formally sealed the decree which served as the basis of the terms they issued to all the settlements of Ashfeld as the Blackstones gained territory. Of course once the Vikings were gone, there were other legions in Ashfeld to deal with. They would no doubt be a source of problems once the Warborn's occupation ended.

Before his thoughts wandered further, however, the tent's flaps opened again. "Ah, Commander Stone. Any word on that outpost?"

"You may want to sit down for this," the Conqueror answered, unnerved and eyes darting around.

Holden frowned, but led him to the chairs in the tent. He understood why he had been asked to sit as Stone began to explain what he had found. Or more accurately, what he was unable to find.

XXXXXXX

The evening sun was eclipsing the horizon as she left the command tent, illuminating the west side of great volcano that dominated Ashfeld's center. They were leagues south of that landmark, but it stood an unmistakable defining feature of the region.

Joy made her way back to her own tent, dropping off her helmet and grabbing her mess kit. The cooks were already serving dinner, and she had yet to take up Seneca's offer of having one of the army squires fetch it for her. One look to the distance she would need to travel after the day's travel made her seriously consider talking to him about it in the morning.

Navigating through the camp's pathways, she thought about the growing army. They had more than replenished from their losses at Westhold thanks to the independents bending the knee and volunteers who were eager to be part of a campaign that looked poised to be historic. Knights who otherwise would remain tending to their estates in the hinterlands were signing up for a part of the glory, some even outright swearing into the Blackstone Legion.

Although the army remained Blackstone in bulk, the assorted allies, new recruits, and former Iron Legion made up at least a fifth of the army now. Although there was still trouble - Blackstone Legionnaires making their low opinion of the independents who only now mobilized known, pride regarding bending the knee to a 'lesser' legion, and the usual issues between those sworn to a legion and the freelance mercenaries who drifted from master to master.

Yet they were coming together, if only due to a mutual enemy, and every day they were talking more and more with their new comrades on friendlier terms. Harrowgate and Westhold were fairly common topics as she passed by, especially when she passed by Iron Legionnaires. And those men, even those from the outposts, always had a friendly greeting for her when she passed by - a sentiment she was more than happy to return. The Iron Legion was fading thanks to its commanders' incompetence, but here she could still find some of what had made it _the_ Legion for so long.

"And there she is."

She turned, hand on the hilt of her sword before she realized it was just three Blackstone Legionnaires she did not recognize. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"You've certainly been helping yourself to the glory," the leading legionnaire said, easily distinct with his bushy black beard. "Those Iron Legionnaires may kiss the ground you walk on, but don't think for a minute we forget how many you killed at Westhold."

She grit her teeth as she looked at him. "And I'm not asking you to. And I didn't enjoy killing them, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh no, no, you're just enjoying the perks of being knighted in and being sent on glory missions while we dug holes."

Joy's hand clenched into a fist. "You're part of Sir Leon's contingent, aren't you?"

"We are," he answered. "Name's Richard. You wouldn't know me, since I doubt you even looked as you flung our friends off the walls. And never even bothered to ask how we felt about our friends' deaths."

"And you haven't asked me about my friends who died that day?" she asked, tilting her head. "You're right to be upset, but…"

"But nothing," he snarled, cutting her off, "You fucking killed what, forty of us that day? All for an oathbreaker. Is that what Wardens are now, traitors and sellswords?"

Joy strode towards him, hand gripped around Dusk. "Listen to me carefully," she started as Richard and his two accomplices were reaching for their own. "I took no pleasure in what happened that day. But I have sworn the same oaths as you have, and it's fighting each other that let the Warborn take Ashfeld in the first place."

"Yeah?" he demanded as she was standing right in front of him. "And now you just show up and get to take all the fucking praise. We've been working our asses off preparing for this," he nodded to the man to her left, older and more worn. "Krassus here? He was one of the first to join the legion."

"Then let's hear it from him," she said as she turned to look at the older warrior, though as she did she noticed that more were gathering to watch.

Krassus scowled at her. "We've bled for over a decade preparing for this. Avoiding the Viking hordes, gathering the strength to strike back. Taking eastern Ashfeld back bit by bloody bit. Then as we prepare to take back the west, this fancy-name Warden from the west comes in and uses us as arrow fodder to take an ass-end-of-nowhere castle for himself."

"And then when we go to bring him to justice, look who fucking shows up to pile on the bodies!" Richard added as he throw his left hand up in frustration. "Another bloody fancy Warden - what, do they hand the title out of any whore's daughter now?"

"My mother is no whore," she snarled as it took all her self control not to draw then and there. "And for your information, she was happily married to my late father, and she now sits as Countess of Sandshore Castle."

"Temper!" Richard chided. "And here I thought Wardens were supposed to be above such. Or can any royal brat become one if she wants to be?"

She began to tug Dusk from the scabbard, the suddenness of the draw causing the three legionnaires to back off, Richard already had his knife ready. They stared for a moment as Krassus and the other had their hands on their respective short swords.

The sudden gasps and movement in the crowd brought Joy back to the situation at hand as she looked around.

_They're just legionnaires,_ she told herself as she realized how it looked and shoved the sword back into its scabbard. _And we've all lost friends._

"I _earned_ my position as a Warden, the same as anyone else would," she answered, forcing her tone steady as she released her grip on Dusk's hilt. "Rich or poor, noble or common, I faced the same trials any of you would have if you wanted to become one."

"Richard," Krassus said as he put a hand on the other legionnaire's shoulder, "that's enough. I think we've all seen what we need to see."

The ringleader glanced around, his beard twitching as he grit his teeth looking at the others…

"What's going on here?"

They all stopped and turned as a Blackstone knight with a stag on his tabard and the legion's insignia above it strode through the crowd, coming out between them.

"Just questioning the killer of so many of your men, Sir," Richard said as he and his two comrades dipped their heads to the other knight. "The dead do not rest easy unavenged."

Leon scowled. "I heard the drawing of weapons, legionnaire. Get out of my sight - we'll discuss this later!"

"Of course, Sir," Krassus answered and tugged Richard by his sleeve. The other legionnaire glared at her one last time, then turned away.

"I trust they were at least cordial, Dame?" Leon asked. "Or do I need to chastise them?"

Joy turned the knight. "Just remind them of courtesy, Sir. The attacks on my family were entirely uncalled for, angry over their friends' deaths or not."

"They…" Leon inhaled sharply, scowling. "Bloody fools. If you wish to answer the insults, I shall arrange a ring in the morning to settle it."

As she looked towards the three making their way to the cooks' tents, then to the men around them who were looking at each other uneasily. "After we've dealt with Savona," she said. "Once we've won, if they stand by it, we can settle it with honor."

"Very well, Dame." Leon looked around at the other soldiers gathered, who were beginning to disperse in conversation now that the scene was over. "If you'll excuse me, I need to remind them of their station."

"Of course, Sir, it was not your fault," she nodded to him and the other knight walked away.

The crowd dispersed quickly back to their end of day routines, but she did not wait long to see someone else striding up towards her.

"Didn't realize you were a royal."

Joy glanced to the side and was surprised to see Stone stepping through the crowd.

"I am," she answered, "House Maylis of Sandshore Castle."

"Damn, so I was talking about clogging a latrine before a highborn lady…"

"Relax, it's fine."

The former commander nodded. "Yeah, well. So… it's still 'Dame' or 'Warden', right?"

"You don't need to treat me any differently," she answered as she folded her arms. "I'm a knight, Stone, just like you are."

"Heh," Stone scratched the back of his neck. "Well, can't say I expected that. Whole reason we call you highborn from the south 'Royals' is because of all those titles you have."

"I'm not the heir apparent and I doubt I'll be inheriting much. Besides, we need it to keep a balance of power. Ashfeld hasn't had the luxury," she added with a small smile.

"Wouldn't call a bunch of hoops you have to leap through so everyone's got the right title a luxury," he started before stopping himself. "You know what, I'm not doing this without a few drinks first."

"We can probably convince the cooks to part with a round of ale," Joy mused as she considered it. "Especially if you haven't had dinner yet."

"Thanks Joy, but I need to get a letter sent back to Harrowgate…"

She tilted her head. Something was bothering him - she could hear it in how his voice suddenly weakened. "What happened?"

"That outpost I was sent to check, the one with that buddy of mine from when I joined?"

"I remember - William, right, Conqueror as well?"

"Yeah, tough as steel and leading some of our most battle hardened sergeants. The outpost was empty, no signs of a struggle, no debris, a perfectly working gate… just, nothing."

She frowned. "Could they have been recalled separately?"

"I doubt it, the Iron Commanders just gave a letter to Cross. He thinks it's desertion."

"But they're too strong for that."

"Exactly," Stone finished as he shook his head. "Anyways, I'm going to send Alberic to look into it as soon as he's gotten his armor repaired. It's going to take a Lawbringer's touch to investigate."

"Let me know if you want any help," Joy offered as she held a hand out.

"Thanks," he said as he took it, though they didn't shake. "And I'll try to take you up on that offer some other time. Until then, have a good night."

"You too."

As they parted ways and Joy resumed making her way to the cooks' tents. Much as a missing group of Iron Legion knights bothered her, it was the argument before she talked to Stone that came back strongest.

She knew someone was going to confront her over Westhold eventually, but she had not expected it to go like that. Anger, perhaps some shouting, but attacks on her family as well? Eye rolling about so-called 'fancy' titles was an Ashfelder trait she was well prepared for. If they were not using it to describe the greatest lords of the lands to the south and west, 'Royal' carried a derogatory connotation in Ashfeld.

Which she knew meant that drawing her sword at the jibes, even if only partway, was not going to endear her to the men she fought alongside. Joy realized they had been aiming to get a rise out of her, to make her look like Daubeny or that one fake from the Temple Legion she had exposed two winters ago. And declaring her heritage, however proud of it she was, walked right into it.

_Don't worry about it,_ she told herself. _They're just bitter - give them some time._

XXXXX

"Sven, what happened? The way your cousin talked, it sounded like Odin Himself had come down and shown her victory!"

Sven sighed, staring at his helmet as he saw in the keep at Savona. He had managed to gather some of the survivors from Harrowgate, an odd hundred and fifty men or so, but the rest were either being cut down piecemeal in the wilds or various Warborn holdings. Others were trickling in - and past - the port turned Warborn colony.

"I don't know!" he finally snapped as he hurled his helmet onto the floor, which rolled next to the fireplace only to bounce off of the metal grate before stopping on the rug. "One hour we were breaking the Iron Legion, the next they rally and then that Warden… that Warden…"

"Sent Valdis to Valhalla," the older Warlord finished as he was leaning forward in a chair opposite of him. The master of the house, ruler of Savona, and Jarl of the Fairhair Clan, Ludvig had long been a friend of Sven's family. Now he was his host as they tried to piece together what happened. "A worthy death, if far too soon."

"Her and hundreds of others... and now the Blackstones are attacking in full force?"

Ludvig nodded, reaching over to the nearby table for his mug of mead. "Aye, Apollyon and her host is laying siege to Aurich now. Most of our kin in Ashfeld are to attack her army."

Sven nodded slowly. That was one of their more eastern colonies, in the moors separating the rest of the Warborn settlements from The Shard. But it was no great fortress and against a strong attack it would not hold for long.

"And now a second army comes here led by the Vengeance of Ashfeld, gathering together the scattered knights of southern Ashfeld," Ludvig continued as he rose and stepped to the fire, holding his hands out over it. "I'm going to need every warrior you can rally from this disaster."

"Are you that undermanned?" Sven asked as he looked to his helmet now at the elder Warlord's feet. "We only took a hundred or so volunteers from here."

"Not undermanned," Ludvig corrected, "but our southern foothold was never the largest - you saw the abandoned parts of the city when you came. I have men, but not enough to do more than hold my position."

"And how many do you have?"

"Between my household, sworn men, and their households, I've got about maybe a hundred veteran warriors. But the rest of my army? Five hundred militia, most of them townsfolk and farmers who came from Valkenheim to carve a new life for their families."

"And Ashfelders who survived our conquest."

"Aye. They'll defend their home against all comers, especially with the Blackstone's reputation, but against Asmodai and his second?" Ludvig paused as he looked down at the helmet, then picked it up by the wolf's snout. "You said a Warden saved Harrowgate? A Blackstone one?"

"I did," Sven confirmed as the Jarl handed his helmet back. "Rallied the Iron Legion herself since Hakon held up the rest."

"Herself?" Ludvig turned suddenly, and Sven nodded.

The room fell silent as Ludvig's mouth twitched for a moment. He turned back to lean his arm against the mantel of the fireplace, shadows from the flickering flame dancing across his graying red beard.

"Last I heard," the Jarl finally said as he stared, "there were only three Wardens anywhere near Ashfeld and all of them Blackstone. Two of them some sort of disgrace or whatever those knightly orders call former members. And only Apollyon was a woman."

"But Apollyon's in northern Ashfeld…"

"Exactly. And the third ran south with what he stole from the Blackstones to seize his own power. That leaves Asmodai's second, and this newcomer."

Sven's gut tightened. "Are we sure we can count on the Ashfelders here if that Warden appeals to them?"

Ludvig grimaced for a moment as he stared at the flames. "We can. This is their home, and the Blackstones are hardly merciful in victory. Even now I'm receiving reports that the legion is cutting their way through villages we took, killing any of our warriors there and casting out those who refuse to become their slaves."

It was silent again as the implication hung in the air. This time, Sven broke the silence.

"So, what now?"

"I'm not going to sit here and wait for Asmodai to exterminate my people for his bitch master." The Jarl slammed his fist against the stone mantelpiece. "We don't have the numbers to fight them in an open battle, not without help from the north. So, we gather supplies for a siege, salvage what we can from Harrowgate and our distant villages, train what warriors we have, and defend our home to the last."

Sven looked down at his helmet one last time before setting it aside and rising. "Then you have my shield, Jarl."

For the first time their entire discussion, Ludvig smiled. "Thank you, lad. Let's set to work, and hope the Allfather sees our courage."

XXXXX

Many farmsteads dotted the landscape of Ashfeld - home for those trying to eke out a living where they were born. Or, since the Warborn returned to reclaim their former homelands, colonists from Valkenheim who settled there. Some of them were the original parties of raiders, while others took up the homes left abandoned by their former owners after the raiders became conquerors.

For Leif Ketilson, he was of the latter group. Valkenheim had good soil, but Ashfeld's was more than a fertile match. At least in the lands where acid lakes, lava flows, sinkholes, sinkholes leading into lava flows, and geysers had not made it resemble Niflheim.

Spreading the seed for this season's grain, it seemed to be a normal day working in the field with his sons. Yet as he threw another handful of seed into the fallows his sons had dug, he heard it in the distance. The steady rhythmic beat of marching men, and the echo of horns. Not those of animal horn that the Warborn used, but brass horns.

Frowning, Leif walked up to the edge of the field, climbing up the small crest of land that marked the edge of his home and felt his gut tighten as he saw the banner the marching army bore. Even in the distance there was no mistaking it: black with an orange depiction of sword splitting a helmet and skull in half.

"It's the Blackstones!" he warned as he turned around and ran back to his sons. "Boys, get your mother and sisters - it's the Blackstone Legion!"

The two young men immediately stopped their work, hoes still in hand as the three hurried back to their hut on the other side of the field.

"Leif, what…"

"It's the Blackstones, Amie!" he answered as he saw his wife stepping out with their baby daughter bundled up in her arms.

She stepped back in shock as he reached her, grabbing her with his free hand for a hug. "I'll meet you at Savona, I need to warn the others…"

"Don't try to be a hero," she answered as she leaned against his shoulders. "Just warn them and come back to me, alright?"

"I will," he answered as he let go and looked to his sons. "Kristoff, Carl, take good care of your sisters."

"We will," the older one, Carl, said.

Nodding, Leif turned towards the barn. He was going to need to drive the swaybacked old horse hard if he was to warn the other farmsteads before the Blackstones came. And if they caught them?

Well, he only had to think about what the Blackstone Legion had done to the Warborn who tried to settle the lands east of The Shard.

XXXXXX

"My lord, she's back."

Holden Cross turned as the sergeant had spoken up. He had been standing on a hillcrest where he could observe Savona.

Once the last of the troops to join them arrived, they had marched on Savona. It took several days and they had arrived late in the evening, but morale was high as they were on the offensive. And to make it one better, there were whispers that other legions were looking to Savona with keen eyes. Whether this meant they would join the campaign or simply see how it played out was to be seen, but those who had not joined seeing it now knew they were making history.

For now however, Cross had organized their army to set up a base camp just northeast of Savona. Although off of the main road, it was far enough away to provide them safety for the night against a sudden sally while also being close enough to be their headquarters for the siege once the earthworks were done. They would rest that night, and in the morning the siege would begin.

But as they closed on the city, it had become increasingly obvious that the farmsteads and hamlets were being abandoned. Joyeuse had noticed it, and had asked permission to head out and investigate further that morning to see the extent of it, and perhaps find out why. He had granted it, so long as she returned before nightfall.

And as she stepped up onto the crest of the hill, she bowed her head.

"Warden, did you find anyone?"

"No one, my lord," she answered as she glanced down again.

Holden nodded as he heard the expected news. "Jarl Ludvig must have sent men to pull everyone inside the city," he explained as he looked back to the city. It was what he would do against a foe like them.

"I knew most would flee," Joy continued, "but there's always a few determined homesteaders who refuse to leave their homes, usually off of the main roads. Yet even they have fled."

"The Vikings tell horror stories of our campaigns, and our occasional incursions into Valkenheim." Unbidden, his mind wandered to the aftermath of one raid into the Warborn lands - the raid Ademar had chosen to no longer be a Warden. He pushed the thought aside. "If the horror stories are all the colonists who squatted in Savona heard, they would flee."

"For good reason with what war does to the smallfolk," she conceded, but Holden could hear that faint hint of discomfort. He remembered it all too well from Ademar.

"Do you think those we let leave told some of those stories?" she asked.

"Perhaps, losing what they consider home can be a bitter brew," the Lawbringer rubbed his chin as he thought of it. "Maybe they hope we will shatter against the walls as their kin did at Harrowgate. A fool's hope - these fortifications are nowhere near a match for the sanctuary's."

"Do you still plan on delivering the terms yourself?"

"I expect they'll be rejected, but yes. Are you volunteering, Warden?"

"I would, Sir."

"Then get some rest. You'll accompany me to the gates when I deliver terms." He needed to see how she reacted when the Vikings refused surrender, rather than hear about the aftermath. Whatever was bothering her, it had to do with their campaign.

The Warden bowed her head. "Thank you. Have a good night, my lord."

"And you, Dame," he answered with a nod. As she turned away, Holden looked back out at the city.

He was no stranger to siege warfare, but he also knew that this was going to be a difficult attack. The Legions' superior siegeworks and metalworking allowed them to punch above what numbers would suggest in the conflicts between rival legions, as would the fact most of his warriors were battle hardened. Yet he was still uneasy as he looked to the city - to cut it off, he would need to spread his men out along the entire perimeter of the city.

That meant the Vikings would, if they chose to sally, be able to focus their forces on a single section of his army while he would have to shift his entire perimeter to respond. He had some reserves, but it would take them time to get involved - time enough for the Vikings to potentially weaken his army too much from attrition. Once they finished with the earthworks it would be much less of a problem, but until then vigilance was the only defense.

But the Lawbringer was reassured by the fact that any reinforcements would either be too few to make a difference or on his side - with Apollyon's campaign in the north, the majority of the Warborn in Ashfeld looked to her. He did not need to worry about being caught between two armies without ample warning, allowing him time to devise a proper assault.

Savona's port could not be closed, but he was not worried about them being supplied - they had few trade partners thanks to the raids launched from Savona in the past. Starving them out would still take at least a month, more if they were able to ship in some supplies, but if he had to the army was more than capable of that. All they would need to do is ensure that they were supplied, and with the lands they had retaken they had the supply line.

Exhaling sharply as he took one last look at the city, Holden lifted up his poleaxe and made his way back. He could retire for the night, confident that the Vikings were not preparing an attack at that time. And if they did, the lookouts would see it and raise the alarm.

XXXXXX

Early the next morning, Joyeuse was riding just next to and behind Cross as he approached Savona. The Lawbringer bore a white banner held up so that the wind would make sure it was visible. Even though she knew the Vikings observed parley, she could not help but feel uneasy as they entered range of Savona's defenders.

The walls were relatively short - three men high - with squat towers at intervals far too wide to provide effective coverage between them, and some of the stonework looked to be roughshod. Yet the men on the walls were not - archers and crossbowmen alike stationed on the walls quickly spotted them and took to their positions. Shouts in both Latin and Norse, mostly the latter, echoed until they approached the gate itself.

"That's close enough!" a voice shouted and they brought their horses to a halt, looking up at the one who had answered - a sergeant with his tabard bearing Warborn runes rather than proper Legion colors that would have born the city's crest.

"We come to discuss terms of surrender," Cross answered as he looked up, raising his visor so his face was visible. "Tell your commander so he can hear them."

The sergeant turned and said something to a nearby messenger who hurried off. They waited uncomfortably, Joy keeping her hand on Dusk's hilt even though she knew it would do her no good if the men on the walls decided to start shooting at them, but she needed the reassurance of having something ready. Especially as she had to consider the implication of who had answered them - that was a man of Ashfeld standing with the invaders. Was he a simple mercenary serving for pay, or was there something else at work?

"Rude to keep us waiting, they knew we would come," Cross grumbled as time passed.

"They'll answer soon enough," she responded. "I'm more worried about the fact that the man who answered us was a city sergeant."

The Lawbringer turned his head towards her. "Why do you sound so surprised? You must have seen defeated men absorbed into the legion that conquered them."

"I have, but two legions may have different goals they share the same oaths and understand what is expected. It's mostly changing banners. The Warborn are here to change far more than that, far more savage than than they should be."

"Only savagery?"

Joy paused for a moment before answering. "They are more than mindless killers, but some of their traditions are barbaric."

"Aye, well, some will put up with it to live. As long as they are not the sheep to slaughter," Cross glanced up, eying the guards on the wall. "Though you're right, there's more Ashfelders than there should be on the walls."

"Conscripts?"

"That, or they bought into the horror stories." He pursed his lips for a moment, as if in thought. "Not without good reason."

_What have they been doing?_ Joy wondered when they were interrupted by a loud voice from the top of the walls as two Warlords stepped up. One she recognized - the wolf pelt helmet wearing one who had called the retreat at Harrowgate. The other was far older, the gold trim of his helmet gleaming in the morning sun.

" _Knights!_ " the older warlord bellowed in surprisingly fluent Latin, "I am Ludvig, ruler of Savona and Jarl of the Fairhair Clan! If you have a message, deliver it! My hersirs grumble, Asmodai, so make it quick!"

Cross looked up towards the Jarl. "Jarl Ludvig, these warriors do not need to die. Surrender the city and your people - every warrior, every farmer, every man, woman, and child - will be granted passage to Valkenheim should they wish it. It will be safe passage so long as you do not take up arms again, and those who wish to remain may do so if they accept the rightful rulers of Ashfeld!"

"I thought you knights claimed the Iron Legion to be such!" Ludvig bellowed before turning to the men on the walls. "See how easily he claims ownership of you, men of Savona? He doesn't even deign to pretend it is on behalf of the vaunted Iron Legion! No, he instead claims _his_ master owns you! Does that not put truth to the stories?"

"If the Warborn cannot see the difference between fealty and slavery, then clearly you have learned little in your years of ruling!"

"I have learned plenty, Asmodai! But I am not some weak-kneed lordling who scampers at the sight of a small army! Leave and return to your host, I will not yield my home to invaders!"

"Neither do I - what follows is on your head, Warlord!" Cross bellowed, then tugged the reins of his horse to pull it around to leave. Joy took one last look at the battlements, making sure none of them were about to try a shot, but those who were at attention lowered their weapons. So she turned her horse around and rode after Cross, who had started to spur his horse to move faster.

As they made their way back, Joy mulled over the exchange. Ludvig seemed to have managed to convince what Ashfelders remained in Savona not only were they somehow 'free', but to fight for their occupiers. And apparently had used stories of the Blackstone Legion for that.

_But what are those stories?_ She asked herself. Were they nothing more than the usual exaggerated tales of the defeated, or was it something she had not seen during their march here?

Reaching to her belt, she unhooked the pendant that had been given to her and looked down at the defaced Warden's crest. It was a deliberate cut, one she had also seen on the shield around his chest. He had marked himself away from being a Warden, to make himself clearly former by defacing the articles of his station. What had driven him to do that? Was it his service in the Blackstone Legion, or a personal failure?

"Typical," Cross finally said, jolting her from her thoughts. "I knew he would stubbornly refuse."

"Would you surrender?" she asked, putting the pendant back onto her belt as she looked at him.

He paused for a moment, then shrugged, the white flag swaying slightly as it was resting against his shoulders. "No, but I'd at least meet to discuss the terms further. Sometimes an otherwise pointless discussion allows for settlement. As for home…" he trailed off. "The only home I have is far from here."

"I thought you were Lord of Redflow Castle?

"I am, but it has never truly been home for me. That was always Ostia."

"I don't think I'm familiar with that castle."

"Obviously," the Lawbringer smiled as he looked back at her. "Ostia's just a manor on the ass end of the Myre's border."

"Oh, heh. Oops," she admitted as she felt her cheeks heating up.

"Anyways, my brother's still there, keeping an eye on it. Isn't much, but we get travellers going through the Myre. Occasionally had travellers from it too, but I only saw actual Samurai when their caravans ran into trouble."

That did not surprise her - the Chosen were always insular. "But why isn't Redflow home for you?"

"Too grand. It was an Iron Legion sanctuary, then it was left a ruin by the Vikings. Ol' Horace rebuilt it once we got going, I was given command of it."

"Horace?"

"Mulciber," he added and Joy nodded. One of the other Blackstone Warlords.

"Anyways," the Lawbringer shook his head. "None of this really matters. We have our orders: take Savona and drive the Warborn out. Go gather the captains, we'll meet in the commander's tent to discuss our final preparations."

"My lord," she answered with a nod and rode ahead towards the camp.

XXXXXXX

The rest of the day was surprisingly uneventful, given it was the beginning of a siege. After one last meeting of the commanders, they spread out and began to take up the positions around Savona's walls. The first day's earthworks were concentrated around where the different contingents would camp, and were established quickly and the catapults moved out between the different camps to threaten Savona's walls, though they had no plans on bombarding - yet.

"And he batted that wannabe Berserker right off the roof and into a pigsty!"

Joy snorted. "Lawbringers are strong men, but I have a hard time believing that."

"It's true, I swear!" Stone insisted with a grin. "Alberic is one of my best knights for a reason, and he has an awesome swinging arm!"

Despite her disbelief, she was still smiling, Stone had been stationed along the main road north with his men, and they would be the ones to push a battering ram to Savona's main gate when the time came for the final assault. With it seeming to be the end of a boring day, she and Stone had sat on a nearby slope facing away from the city as they ate dinner and talked.

"Speaking of Alberic," she asked. "Any word on his investigation?"

"He's on his way to the outpost now that his armor's fixed, but I don't know when I'll hear from him again," he answered, finishing his stew. "So, you said your mother was a countess, right? What about your father?"

"The former count, my mother married into the family," she paused for a moment, looking down as the sudden change of topic dredged up memories. "She took the reins when he died of gout eight years ago."

"Ah…"

"She'll abdicate soon," she added to move away from that point, "what with Robert being more than old enough. She always thought of herself as keeping it together while we grew up."

"Better sooner than later - best way to teach him is to put him in that throne. It's how I learned.."

"The lessons never really stick until you've done it for real," she conceded when they heard shouting and turned, rising and reaching for their weapons lying nearby.

But as they stood, it turned out that it was little more than one of the legionnaires stumbling into a campfire before being pulled and put out by his friends, and they were back to drinking songs despite the lack of ale that night.

With exasperated sighs, the two sat back down and Joy shook her head. That poor soul was never going to hear the end of it from his friends, at least until someone else did something so spectacularly embarrassing.

"So, what about you?" Joy asked. "How'd you join the Iron Legion?"

"The brigands I ended up with got caught by Commander Kline. We ran into her and her knights and a skirmish broke out - wasn't planned or anything, just happened. Afterwards she offered the survivors a chance to serve the Iron Legion, or torture, either way we'd pay. Easy choice really…"

"Then you proved yourself over and over again. You weren't tempted to find a way out?"

"Are you kidding?" Stone asked as he stared at her, mouth hanging open. "Regular meals, some pay after a year of service, and being able to do something with my life besides extorting caravans? If I didn't think they'd shove me in a cage, I would've joined sooner!"

"And the honor?"

"Yeah, that too."

The slope quieted down as the implication hung in the air. On one hand, Joy had come to Ashfeld looking for a worthy cause, an honorable one. On the other, she knew not everyone was in for the ideals.

"So, the Blackstone Legion," she finally asked. "What do you know about it?"

"If you're asking if I have regrets…"

"No, just the parley earlier. The Warborn commander's been using stories of the Blackstones to convince the people here to fight for him, and Cross seems to think it had some merit."

Stone tilted his head. "Not sure how much I can tell you. What'd you already learn?"

"I was told the basic history after joining - the Blackstone Legion began about twenty years ago. They sought to forge a Legion that remembered the true duty of knights - to fight the invaders of our lands and strike back, rather than drag down in the politics that's taken over too many. And that when Apollyon took control, the surviving warmasters took on demon names as a reminder to themselves about their strength."

"I know a few more details, but not much more," the Conqueror offered. "They worked hard to secure their part of Ashfeld, driving the Vikings out and fending off rival Legions that were rising about the same time as they did. The Blackstones absorbed most of them in the crib - they did not spend a lot of time attacking other legions like the Regals, who they wiped out late last summer."

"And their campaigns - were they out of the ordinary?"

"Other than launching some retaliatory raids into Valkenheim?" Stone shook his head. "Not that I know of. At Harrowgate we saw them as just a particularly bloodthirsty response to the Warborn's colonization. And as long as they were distracting the worst of the Warborn, well, who were we to complain?"

"The demon names didn't worry you?"

"Joy, I wear a skull on my helmet," he pointed firmly towards it. "The Blackstone warlords want to name themselves after demons, that's their business. I always thought it was just a way to try and keep the infighting down - most of the eight warlords they had killed their predecessor."

"For what?" she asked with a frown.

"Couldn't tell you. All I know is that after finishing off two of them in a single year, Apollyon seized control and no one challenged her the same way."

"Let's hope we don't it happen again, then," she answered as she looked back towards the main camp. She did not want to have to fight her comrades, especially if it was over petty power.

Looking to the west, Joy picked up her helmet and her bowl and pushed herself up. "I should get back to the main camp, it's getting late."

"Sure," Stone answered as he rose and held out a hand. "Nice talking with you, Warden."

"And you, Conqueror."

Making her way back as light was quickly fading, Joy weighed what she learned. Every campaign involved attacking the countryside to some degree - if only because of duels, brawls, and skirmishes when foraging parties from both armies met. And while most armies tried to carry supplies with their wagon trains, they also needed to resupply along the way, and the farms they passed were often the only way to go.

Of course how that went about varied - in their own lands it might just take the form of collecting the usual payments earlier or be part of the agreement made between liege and vassal. Often they paid, especially if in an ally's territory. But when dealing with the enemy's people, or if an army was particularly desperate, outright attacking became the norm. Some even outright ravaged the countryside as a tactic to distract their enemies with ensuring enough supplies for the winter, keeping them from putting their army in the field.

It was a normal part of warfare, if one that Wardens often weighed in on with no small amount of violence towards the pillagers. She had dealt with more than a share of those men on the way to Ashfeld, including some in the army she was working for at the time.

But looking towards the city, its walls illuminated by the torches on it so the night guards could observe, she had to wonder: this was supposed to be a liberation. Would the Blackstone Legion sack the city, extracting the toll of the struggle to get inside from those within? Or would there be mercy to its inhabitants?

Shaking her head, Joy knew the only way she would get the real answer was when they were inside.

XXXXX

The siege went onwards, with the Warborn evaluating their opponents over the first two days. Jarl Ludvig knew that a quick attack would only be pounced on by the Blackstone cavalry, of which they had nothing to effectively counter in a quick raid. However, they were able to evaluate the distribution of sentinels and the progress of the trenchworks. As their opponents built the sloped pits and planted stakes as a first line, they moved on and the focus of the guards shifted with it. Much of Savona was now encircled, with the majority of the Blackstone perimeter now focused towards the shoreline.

"Here," Ludvig finally said as he pointed at a spot on the eastern side of the map. "They only patrol this section now, and if you wait for nightfall you may be able to slip past with a small group."

Sven nodded as he looked down at it. "Then we use the fire flasks your merchants have created to set fire to their existing siege engines."

"And their supplies - they can't stay here if they have nothing to eat."

"How many catapults are positioned on the east side?" Ludvig's wife, Ingvildr, asked as she frowned.

"Last count was four, spread out along their existing fortifications," a hersir said as she leaned forward. "I'd volunteer to burn them."

"Of course you would Estrid," Ludvig chuckled as he looked to those assembled in the room - the thegns and hersirs of the Fairhair Clan, a small but select group of warriors from the highest families the clan had. "Any other volunteers?"

Every hand rose except one, who quickly was glared at harshly by the others.

"Hildebrand? I thought you'd…"

The warrior, wearing a mere tunic compared to the gambeson and mail of the rest, shook his head. "I would, Jarl, but Ragna's great with child. Any day now she'll give birth. If I must, I will leave her, but I would stay to defend her myself."

What accusing looks were directed towards him instantly faded with grumbling of acceptance and acknowledging the fair, if surprising, choice from the would-be Raider. _Worthy in another way,_ Sven decided.

"Alright then. Sven, take four of the best warriors who followed you. Estrid, Agnarr, Olaf, you each take one of your warriors and join him on the raid. Wait for darkness, then creep to the defenses and climb past. Set fire to as much as you can, then _get back here_. We're going to need all of you."

Sven and the others chosen bowed their head. "We will return, Jarl," Sven swore.

As they filed out of the main council chamber in Savona's keep, Ludvig stopped Sven to keep him inside.

"Is something wrong, Ludvig?" Sven asked as the last of them left.

"Perhaps an old man's jealousy," the Jarl managed a faint smile before it faded. "But I need to know - if that Warden shows up, what will you do?"

Closing his eyes, all he could see was that Warden taking Valdis' head off, and it bouncing before him. Had he panicked then, or was that the wisdom that being a Warlord demanded of him for the sake of those who followed him? The thought troubled him even if hindsight had told him it was the best course of action, or even one that should have been done sooner.

"If she tries to stop us, Valdis will be avenged. But I know the mission - to set fire to as much of their equipment as we can before they respond, and retreat."

The older Warlord nodded firmly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck. We'll be ready if you need help returning."

XXXXX

"Sir Leon, any trouble?"

"None sir," the knight said as Holden Cross walked up next to his vantage point from the siege camp directly east of Savona. "I have men are on patrol regardless."

"I saw. Thinly spread, too."

"Unfortunately, I am low on manpower…"

"I'll have Guy station a few of his men to your camp. The Vikings are going to be looking for any weakness once our towers start going up. They may even be looking for some now."

"We'll stay alert," Leon insisted as he looked out to the city. "Haven't seen the gate open at all."

"There's always hidden passages," Holden warned as he looked out. "And the only map we have dates back twenty years."

"So far it's been accurate, but don't trouble yourself my lord. We'll be fine until the morning."

Holden was still not fully confident. It had been too quiet the last two days. He expected at least some sign that the Vikings were going to retaliate. It was unlike them to wait calmly inside - except maybe when their priests predicted that their gods prohibited bloodshed until a certain time. He knew something was going to happen, soon - hence his inspection of their posts that night.

"Carry on then," he finally said to the captain, lifting his poleaxe and resting it on his shoulder.

"My lord."

Moving on to the next contingent, Holden shook his head. Things were just too quiet for his taste. Sieges were a contest of patience - who would blink first: would the attackers go in half-cocked, or would the defenders try a desperate sally? But commanders on both sides would want to sabotage, if possible. And with their siege engines spread out in position to allow each contingent artillery to help break up an advancing shield wall, it seemed like the time the Vikings would at least attempt an attack.

Of course an attack could come anywhere, so for all he knew he had come to the absolute wrong position. But going on a surprise inspection of the posts seemed to be wise.

Stopping partway to the next contingent, Holden looked at Yarwick's work. The chief engineer's men had established dipping pits rounded along the bottom, with stakes pointed from their side to the opening to make falling into the pits dangerous. The only way past was to carefully climb down, avoiding a slip that would see you impaled, then climbing up past the gaps in the stakes, if you could in full armor. It would not stop an attack, but it would delay one.

Satisfied, he began to move on and he allowed his mind to wander to other matters. Like that Warden - she was doing quite well, but he had his worries. She had questions, he knew it. But he was more worried about her growing confidence in fighting and taking on dangerous missions - Stone had told him about how she ran off to clear a bastion on her own. Initiative like that was good, but if she let her ego get the better of her she would run into a battle she would be unable to win.

Any further thoughts of that was suddenly cut off when he heard an explosion and the night suddenly flared up in flames not far from Leon's camp. The Lawbringer stared at it for a moment, mouth gaping at how narrowly he had missed being there, before he shut it, tightened his grip on his poleaxe, and hurried back.


	6. Siege of Savona

God hated him.

That really could only explain what had happened to him that campaign.

First his men were horrifically blooded in the assault on Westhold, not even being able to get a foothold on the eastern wall. Then they sat out Harrowgate, missing out on the honor there despite supposedly being part of the relief force. And now their outpost was the one struck at, and they already had lost one of their catapults?

Shoving the frustration side, Sir Leon drew his longsword and hurried into the battle as his men were coming to arms. Archers were taking up positions from behind the camp's fortifications, a few arrows whizzing overhead as they ran towards it but he knew they would have to stop shooting soon - otherwise killing their own was inevitable.

He had a few men at his side - mostly legionnaires - and ahead he could see the warlord directing orders to the Warborn at his side.

_Time to get started,_ he decided as he picked his target - a Warborn woman with sword and shield. His opponent recognized he was coming and turned along with two others, which the legionnaires next to him engaged as the two went at it. Sparks flew between their swords before Leon found himself shoved back as she bashed him with the shield.

Pushed back by the blow, Leon saw her approaching and threw his weight into the shield, staggering her. Releasing his right hand from the sword, he grabbed the shield and tugged, tackling her and knocking her to the ground. He immediately moved back as she came around, sword at the ready, but he was able to stab her in the sword arm before he was forced to back off as another Warborn charged him.

Coming around, Leon saw the Warlord advancing before heavy footfalls caused both to turn as Holden Cross charged into the fray poleaxe in hand.

"Commander!" Leon shouted, "they're burning the siege engines!"

"I know!" he answered as he shoved his weight into the Warlord and knocked him back. Before Leon could watch further, he had to turn as the Warborn woman attacked him again. Forced to defend, he parried a sword swing - mostly by luck with his reaction - and the two went at it again.

Exchanging a series of attacks, parries, deflections, and straight up blocking, the two seemed evenly matched. Not much further from them Cross was bringing the hammer end of his poleaxe down on his opponent, pushing the shield down on his foe's helmet and dazing him.

But he heard the Warlord shout something despite that - some Norse word that he recognized from prior battles even if he did not know its actual translation - and almost immediately they broke off and began to run towards the ramparts. The Warlord pushed Cross back with his shield, catching the Lawbringer mid-swing and off-balance, then ran himself.

"Don't let them escape!" Leon shouted as he sprinted after them.

"Archers, loose!" Cross bellowed and seconds later flaming arrows whistled overhead, guiding the subsequent volleys towards the furthermost of the Warborn. One Viking was caught in the leg by an unlit arrow and shortly after the spike on Cross' poleaxe went into the poor man's back as he tripped.

And Leon kept running past as the Warborn hurried up to their perimeter trench and ran along the stakes even as some arrows were starting to fall next to him - but by this range he was confident in his armor.

One tripped as Leon as closing, landing on the other side and pulling himself back up. Not waiting, Leon leapt over himself and almost fell backwards, but he landed on the shoulders of his target and kicked the man down into the spikes, then pulled himself back up. The other Warborn were still running, but he saw the extra torches above…

"Let them go!" Cross shouted as an arrow hit the back of his shoulderguard. "Legionnaires, stop chasing!"

Leon glanced to his left and saw three Legionnaires, who had come over rather quickly, came to a halt and turned.

"Mi'lord?" one of them - which Leon finally recognized as Krassus - asked.

"If we chase them we'll run into their archers," the Lawbringer growled as he pointed towards the city. "Get back here and put out the fires!"

_Crap,_ Leon realized as his gut tightened. Just minutes ago he had reassured that they were fine. Now at least one of their siege engines and who knows what else was set on fire by some of the sneakiest Vikings he had the misfortune of fighting.

Looking to the heavens, the Blackstone knight sighed and wondered - what did God have against him for such misfortune on this campaign?

XXXXXX

As the dust of that raid settled, Ludvig had let the next two days pass without further attacks, observing how the Blackstones responded, and gained a measure of respect for the Lawbringer in command. He had put aside what had to be hot rage to end it quickly aside in favor of digging in, fortifying the trenchline further and beginning work on a rough palisade with towers and gates.

"... which means that we need to find a supplier of food, and soon," Ludvig concluded as the third morning he laid out the assessment to the rest of the city's leaders, now short Olaf as he had died by Asmodai's hand.

"So who can we ask? The Blackstones are cutting our kin off with their campaign," Sven growled as he looked down at the map, pointing his finger along the Ashford - a river that ran north, before forking east into the main lava stream from the great volcano, and west to a river that ran along much of Ashfeld before turning east.

"Which also means evacuating them is out of the question," Agnarr added as he pressed his fists against the table. "We could evacuate some of our people, but that's as good as admitting we can't defend the city."

"And we're not cowards like those Iron Legionnaires," Estrid added with a growl, her arm bandaged from her injury a few nights ago, "So, who can we rely on?"

Ludvig ran his hand along his beard as he looked down, before making a decision. "I'll send one ship up north with an emissary, to see how far down the Ashford the Blackstones have advanced, and to ensure that our kin are aware of our plight. In the meantime, we should assume that whoever can supply us sits on the Eitriualen…"

There was silence before he finally laid his finger down on a name on the western bank of the inner sea. Jesolo.

"Are those not the men who fled the city as you took it?" Sven asked as he looked at the name and hushed whispers ran between the observing leaders. "Would they trade with us?"

"They may be the patrician families who fled the city," Ludvig confirmed as he looked to the younger Warlord, "but we have a treaty with them to ensure the flow of trade - for they needed the trade of their home city to survive, and freedom from our ships to ply their trade."

"They're our best chance to get supplies," Agnarr affirmed. "And if our kin to the north are being pushed back, it may be our only chance to resupply."

"So it is," Ludvig agreed he knew the decision he had to make. "The second ship will bear an emissary to them. We will secure an agreement from them and then begin shipping in the food. However, I will not go, on either boat."

His promise sent a brief shock through the room, and resulted in faces twisting in confusion. Ludvig felt his own face hardening, wondering if any harbored… _No,_ he realized. The shock was because none were thinking he was giving himself the way out with this.

"With respect, Jarl," Hildebrand started, "you signed the treaty yourself. Mayor Giovanni want to speak to you personally."

"We can hold the fort while you're gone, in case you bring Ingvildr with you," Sven added, nodding to her.

"Actually," she started, turning to look at her. "Lud, I should go."

Ludvig felt his gut tightening. "I wasn't going to…"

"Ask me to escape?" she tilted her head. "I'll be back in time to defend our city, but if you want to stay to make sure no one thinks you're fleeing, I'm the best one to go."

His first instinct was to protest - he did not like the idea of sending her away, even if it was not to hide, but as the gut instinct passed he knew she was right. She was his wife - when he was away, she dealt with all matters of governance, including their pact with the former patricians of Savona.

"Alright," he finally relented, "but be careful. I wouldn't put it past Asmodai to have assassins lying in wait."

"I can handle myself," she retorted and Ludvig paused for a moment, his mind flashing back to a flash mob early in Savona's occupation, and the corpses she left in her wake when they went for her.

"What about another attack?" Estrid asked, leaning forward on her uninjured arm. "The Blackstones have been busy with their palisade, and once finished the only way we're going to attack is to land by boat upstream. And with the extra debris coming down from the lava river…"

"Do we still have some of the fire flasks?" Hildebrand asked. "We could set the walls aflame and let them burn down."

"We could burn a section, but not enough to be worth using what we have," Ingvildr elaborated, and Ludvig glanced at her. She gave him a nod.

"We don't have the material to make many more," he explained, "and the palisade is too easy to repair. If we set those on fire, we have to follow through with an attack. And considering the time we'll need for the walls to burn…"

"... it would have to be the decisive charge," Hildebrand nodded slowly. "Which leads to that point. If our brothers to the north cannot come to help us, what then?"

That question darkened the mood in the room instantly.

"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it," Ludvig countered to get their minds away from surrender. _If we start consider it, Asmodai wins,_ he reminded himself. "But I have no intention of giving up our homes to those murderers. If we must hold out alone, then we'll hold out and put their cute little myth about stopping a hundred thousand of us to shame."

"Save it for Valhalla, Jarl," Estrid chuckled as she shook her head. "But we probably should determine what we can trade - and if it should go with the first boat."

There was a general grumble of agreement, and they set to the details.

XXXXXX

"... the palisade itself should be finished by lunch tomorrow, then it's just shoring up the existing towers," Yarwick finished as he was giving a report to the Blackstone commanders early the next morning. "If none of the towers need to be shored up further, we can get back to finishing our ram and siege towers."

"Good work, Chief Engineer," Cross nodded. "That's all for now."

The engineer bowed his head and stepped back into the crowd. Leaning forward on the table with the map, Cross looked to the various contingent leaders. "I want all of you to make sure that your patrols and shifts are covered. What happened to Sir Leon's men cannot happen again, and we cannot grow complacent in our siegeworks."

There was some grumbling, but Sir Leon simply looked down, as if ashamed. Joyeuse could only pity him - what happened could have happened to anyone.

"In the meantime, we continue to hold our perimeter and work on the siege equipment. I also want updates every three days on the status of your supplies - if we begin to run low I want to know so we can send word to Harrowgate…"

The tent suddenly burst open and the knights turned, a legionnaire coming to a halt, out of breath, and bent over - at first out of weariness but he quickly took his hands from his knees and bowed properly.

"My lord," he said as he looked to Cross. "Sir Davis," he added as he saw his commander in the group.

"What happened, Sextus?" Davis demanded.

"We saw…" he paused to swallow. "Sir, we saw two Viking ships leaving harbor. Small ones - I think they call them knorrs?"

"Together or separate?" Cross asked, tilting his head.

"Separate, but the wind is with both."

"In which directions, man?" Lord Guy demanded.

"One ship sails west, the other is heading towards the Ashford."

Joy frowned. "I thought the only other Viking settlements on the coast of Eitriualen were small fishing villages, on the far side of the river?"

"That's still true, Warden," Stone explained as he gestured beyond the map, "and there's no real land route with the rest of Ashfeld because of fire pits. But Jesolo? They traded with everyone to keep afloat, as long as they paid."

"Selling honor for silver," Guy growled. "No better than those petty fishers on the Ashford…"

"Lord Guy, you are well aware that applies to Merihem as well, what with the ships from Sverngard that visit her?" Cross turned towards the cavalry commander, and the knight relented.

_Wait, a Blackstone warlord has trade with them?_ Joy turned to look at her commander in shock as he dismissed the reporting legionnaire with a wave of his hand.

But before she articulated the question she caught herself and decided to put it aside and forced the shock from her face. That was for another time.

A stone faced knight with a boar's head on his tabard growled as the legionnaire left, then pointed to his contingent on the coast just north of Savona. "The catapults in my contingent can be moved to threaten shipping."

"Mine can as well," Davis added as he pointed to his men on the south side, "together, Sir Frederick and I should be able to make it hard for them to bring in food."

Their commander meanwhile looked down at the map, considering, before he finally nodded. "Do so, but do not attack their ships unless they threaten your position."

"My lord, if the city resupplies…" Dame Vorena started as she turned.

"... then they hold out a bit longer, or we take it when we get through the gates," the answer cut the knight off. "It is a desperate grasp for a lifeline, and this possibility was accounted for when the campaign was planned."

He pushed his hands off the table and looked to his right. "Now then, Sir Frederick, Sir Davis, you two have your orders."

And thus the meeting broke down into the minutiae of the siege - manpower and how it was affected by sickness, accidents, and a few odd men who were outright missing. It was hardly the deeds bards sung of, and Joy found herself wanting out fairly soon, but she stayed because it was expected of her, and the question bothering her.

Eventually the meeting ended, and the contingent leaders and Cross' staff filed out from the tent to return to their duties, and she was one of the last ones to remain.

The Lawbringer noticed, tilting his head to look at her after spending most of the wait for the captains to leave studying the map before him. "What is it, Warden?"

"You mentioned Merihem's trade…"

Cross tilted his head at her, then shrugged. "Not a lot worth talking about. Sometimes traders from Sverngard bargain with the merchants in Lecce."

"But we're at war with the Warborn, and Gudmundr's clan is one of the leaders…"

"Oh I know, I've fought his warriors at Ribe. But the only thing the Whitewolf Clan attacks us with these days is lone adventurers in someone else's army. Besides, how many of your family's burghers trade with the Iron Duke's, all in the name of profit? It's not so different."

She opened her mouth to respond, but paused as she simply could not come up with a counterargument. "You are right about that."

A small smile cracked on Cross' lips as she conceded. "I know I am," he said as he scooped up his helmet from the table. "Now we both have duties for today, Warden. If I need you on something else, I'll send word."

Joy bowed her head, and when dismissed took her leave.

XXXXX

Men of commerce dealt with strangers on a daily basis - it was how they earned their income. And that meant they had to be willing to pinch their noses and make deals with people they might otherwise despise as to make good business. If he was lucky, he would find that behind all that screaming about a warrior's death to get to Valhalla was a vibrant tradition of trade and commerce.

So was the lesson that the Mayor of Jesolo, a well fed and round bellied man named Giovanni, learned when he became leader of the trade post turned port town. And that for their commerce to survive, he had to pinch his nose and uphold his predecessor's deal with the Fairhair Clan in Savona.

But as he adjusted his floppy hat one last time before his guest entered, he had to fight to keep down a sense of satisfaction. He needed to be all business - he could enjoy the turns fate had finally given them later.

"Ingvildr," he said as the door opened and a nordic woman with dark hair in a green travel dress stepped in. "I trust your journey went well, given the siege your kin face?"

"The wind was generous, though it looks to rain later," she answered as she briefly dipped her head. "And Jesolo - it has been faring well since my last visit?"

"It has indeed," he said as he gestured for a servant to pour the wine into two goblets before. "I know that it is no mead, but wine is still a fine drink." He took his and raised it briefly before he took a long drink. Only after he had done so and clearly swallowed it did Ingvildr take a sip herself.

"Thank you for your hospitality," she answered as she placed the goblet back down. "But I'm afraid that my journey is a matter of urgency."

"Indeed, indeed. Let us dispense with the smalltalk then," Giovanni leaned back and took another sip of wine. "What is it that this humble port of refugees can do for the mighty conquerors of the Fairhair Clan?"

The northwoman tilted her head quizzically for a moment at his uncharacteristic bit of theatrics, but managed to school it out of her expression. "To trade finished products, coin, and honest steel for food to reinforce our stores."

"Does the city not have its own?"

"We do, but it is better to have extra and not need it when faced with the ravening wolves that Apollyon has sent Asmodai down with."

"Ah, Holden Cross," Giovanni nodded briefly. "A man without ambition, yet endless talent. A worthy foe for a warrior couple such as you and your husband. But I doubt a few more bushels of wheat will stop such a man."

"No, but those bushels will help ensure that we are ready to face him, should your god bless him with a patience foreign to him."

"Perhaps. But so far none have been able to stop him, or his new Warden. I hear that she single handedly saved Harrowgate?"

"She killed the leader of the attack, but the real victor was Asmodai's army. The bards try to mask the Blackstone's campaign against innocent farmers with her valor."

"Ah, yes, the stream of refugees as the Blackstones displace the settlers from Valkenheim…" Giovanni rose from his chair, goblet in hand and stepped towards the display on the wall to his right. Much of it was filled with wood carvings, ornately crafted by the skilled artisans of the Fairhair Clan using the tools that had to be abandoned years ago, and those brought with them. Art was art, even if some turned their nose to it.

"They intend to wipe out the innocent with the guilty, until they have purged Ashfeld," she continued as he looked away. "They commit atrocities that mocks the chivalry knights stand by, and leaves you without partners to trade. Even today, the Blackstones let bands of highwaymen fight in the wilderness around their castles."

"There's always men looking for a dishonest bounty," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "And war breeds bandits like rabbits."

"Yet we made enemies of the Bearclaw Clan to clear such from our lands," she insisted. "Or do you not remember how their bodies hanged in the center of our city?"

He remembered quite clearly, having gone to the city of his fathers to collect the wergeld that the Fairhair Clan paid to the crews of the cargo ship that, using a boat purchased from the Fairhair Clan, those Bearclaw men had raided. The crew was slaughtered and the cargo stolen, shipped up the Ashford by the time they learned of it.

"I remember that day," he conceded even if it made his stomach churn. "Your clan stuck its neck out to honor the treaty despite it not being your men who violated it."

"And we are still good for what we barter. I brought samples of what we offer, as a downpayment for the shipments to come and proof of what we have to trade. I'm certain your merchants would find it acceptable to take when parting with grain stores."

"Oh indeed. And with your city facing a siege, any man of commerce would jump at the opportunity to exploit your desperation," they had come to the topic, and now he allowed his satisfaction to grow. "You are good for it, and while you haggle well… if the choice is food or starvation, even the best cannot win."

"Perhaps, but your patricians are above such pettiness, and have the foresight to understand that they pay in the long term for such."

He turned and smirked at her. "Flattery, my dear?"

"A remark on your people's integrity."

"Then you will know that my answer is final. We _will not_ supply your city with food, no matter what you bring to trade. In the morning, I will issue a decree that until further notice, there is an embargo on trade with the Fairhair Clan. If you need to resupply for the journey home, you may, but no more."

"What?" she demanded as she rose. "You deny honest trade as the Blackstones come to slaughter us? In their march on our city, they've already cast out hundreds of families into the wilderness with nothing more than the clothes on their back! How many innocents will die when they take the city that stands up to their thuggery?"

"I could ask you the very same question," he shot back. "Or have you forgotten that Jesolo is what it is today because your husband slaughtered his way through our gates and forced us to flee?"

She stared at him, not answering as Giovanni allowed himself to smile before raising his goblet. "A toast, to the Vengeance of Ashfeld! May he and his brave knights remain in good health as they battle the invaders!"

As he drank, Ingvildr's hand fell to the seaxe at her belt, but she did not draw it. Instead she stared at him, a glare that spoke volumes in hatred unleashed by how he had turned the tables upon them… and the rudeness with which he had done so.

"When you starved here, we offered you trade. We gave your ships immunity from raiding. Jesolo survived by our mercy where many of our kin would simply finish you for more plunder and glory," she was practically snarling as she spoke at him. "And this is how you repay us, by closing your ports? Would grain sold have been poisoned?"

Giovanni had to fight down a desire to grab the nearest heavy object and hurl it at her. Instead, he settled for rolling his eyes as he answered her. "I am a _merchant_ , Ingvildr. Poisoning my customers, no matter how vile they are, is simply not done! Forget business, woman, it is a spit upon hospitality!"

"And will men trust you when word comes out that you denied honest trade?"

"I did not make this decision alone," he coolly answered. "I have had counsel from the great families of Savona, all eager to one day see the homes of their fathers reclaimed from the barbarians who forced them from it. The Warborn clans have made their bed. Now, thanks to the Blackstone Legion, I believe they will now lie in it at last."

Her scowl only deepened. "We will remember this, _Mayor_. When the Blackstones have fallen like the Iron Legion, your ship captains should be fearful of the gamble you have taken with their lives."

"You are welcome to try," he shot back. "But I believe you will find it difficult to take revenge on the living when the Vengeance of Ashfeld has dispensed his justice. If you have the fortune of Valhalla, try to find happiness in an eternity of pointless battle. Even mead is ill suited for dulling such constant pain."

The other goblet clattered to the floor. "Better mead than such a disgusting vintage. But when we survive, and when the Blackstones are revealed for the monsters they are, will people look kindly at you?"

Giovanni shrugged, glancing at the knocked over goblet before turning back to the one who knocked it off. "They will look at me more kindly than they will invaders."

With that, Ingvildr stormed out, slamming the door behind her with enough force to shake the room and cause one of the carvings in the display case to topple over. Righting it, Giovanni settled back down in his chair, brooding over the decision as he poured himself another goblet full of wine.

In truth, he knew he would face some complaints. Fleecing the northmen in their hour of need had been argued for repeatedly, but eventually they decided it was better to pick a side for once. Some felt this was war as it always was, but others realized that it was easier to treat with their own kind than it was to do so with foreigners. And of course revenge - they did not have the military might to retake Savona even with mercenaries hired by their wealth, but now they could spite the Warborn who had profited from the wealth left behind in the city.

There was another knock on the door, and he allowed himself one last smile to enjoy the moment before calling for them to come in.

And in stepped another woman, wearing light armor - leather backed or covered gambeson - with twin angels embroidered into the front, and wearing a hood not unlike a nun's habit that partially hid her face, if only due to the shadow. And where it was dyed, it was dyed a familiar black and orange.

"I see the northerner left disappointed," the Peacekeeper remarked.

"So she did," he answered as he was still smiling. "When power shifts its balance, those who once wielded it find its use chafing. And those who are able to see an old debt paid in the process? Why, they prove right the wise men's sayings about a man being given power."

"Especially when that man is strong," she remarked as she leaned her hips to the side. "To tell the Warborn to die when you could play both sides? Many doubted that a burgher could do so."

"So you like to tell me," he answered as he considered her earlier diplomacy - and the subtle (and not so subtle) flattery it involved. "But does this ensure the pact is made?"

"As we discussed, when the Warborn have been driven out, you may begin preparations to reclaim your city. Of course, with the Iron Legion fled, you will need new allies to look to. Ones who appreciate such strength to stand up to our enemies."

Giovanni frowned, on guard as his wariness of the proposal came back to him. "When we have reclaimed Savona and the bargain kept, I will of course be willing to discuss further terms."

"Of course, you will not trust our word until we have delivered on ours. Do not worry, Holden Cross will deliver Savona to you."

"Even though it is his men who bleed to take it?"

"We are warriors, Mayor. Knights who remember our first duty and what our calling always is. The Warborn will learn that, one way or another."

"Then let the dice fly as they may, Lilith, and tell your master that we will be ready to garrison our city once more."

XXXXX

"So, we have no choice."

The news was all bad - the emissary from the north had returned early, having found a routed contingent preparing to continue west to try and regroup. And he reported that Apollyon was making her way south, in no great hurry and taking their strongholds along the Ashford as she went. No army nor garrison had been able to stop her, and the trail of abandoned land she left in her wake spoke for itself.

Then they learned of Jesolo's closed port, and that was the final breaking point. But whereas for others it might mean surrender was in the cards, for Warborn warriors...

"Right. Who do we take with us to Valhalla?" Agnarr asked as he pressed both fists against the table. "I like the idea of burning Jesolo in vengeance."

"Hear hear!" Estrid added.

"And leave our kin unprotected?" Hildebrand demanded. "No. Jesolo's betrayal will be answered by others - what we need to do is strike Asmodai, and bleed his army. Make him attack our walls."

"Do you have a proposal on how to do so?"

"I do, Jarl. His army is spread out - so we find the weakest link, and crush it."

"And how many will we lose attempting to crush one group?" Ingvildr warned as she looked at the would-be Raider. "Asmodai will not simply sit there and let us do so."

"We'll have to be quick, but we face doom regardless. I'd rather face it on our terms than his."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't have a plan," Estrid weighed in as she glanced between them. "We've got some time left - I say we use it to make sure our deaths take as many Blackstones as we can."

"The boats," Ludvig finally said as he spent time looking at the map, particularly a spot in the woods to their north, beyond the Blackstone line. "Agnarr, you remember the trilithon?"

The Berserker looked almost offended, grinning widely as he folded his arms. "I'm the one who found it wandering those woods. Only took us until a month ago, but I'd say I did well enough."

_Didn't take long for his cockiness to come back,_ Ludvig thought with a rueful smile as he looked at the warrior. "You were, which means you know that we can gather a hundred men there easily, if it is properly prepared."

"A flanking force?" Sven asked, tilting his head. "Audacious, perhaps too audacious since if realized, Asmodai will simply keep his cavalry in wait to ride them down."

"Perhaps," Ludvig conceded as he knew that damned heavy cavalry made most maneuvering impossible without a solid shield wall to lock it down, "but as the shieldmaiden said, if we're going to die, we should plan to take as many Blackstones with us as we can. And I can think of no better plan then taking advantage of Asmodai's fear."

"Fear?" Agnarr asked as he tilted his head. "He seems confident to me."

"The fortifications," Ludvig continued as he pointed along the palisade. "He was content with a simpler trenchline until we showed that we could strike past it. Then he built the palisade, and then added additional guard towers…"

"So he fears us attacking? What siege commander doesn't, Lud?" Ingvildr asked as she herself was frowning.

"But he only fears us from one direction," he continued. "Even though he knows we have ships, given how he moved his catapults, he hasn't fortified his rear. He doesn't think we would send that many men up the river."

Sven gestured across the map. "The farmland is perfect for his cavalry, he has little to fear."

"And that makes him overconfident. If our flanking force can remain quiet, and we fix his attention towards us - say, some night raids with arrows over the palisade - he will not be paying attention to the outside unless it's our kin coming down to relieve us. At night, we sneak some of our men up the Ashford, hole them up around the trilithon, and when ready we strike at a chosen contingent."

"And so we split our men, and not from a position of strength as Valdis did," Sven growled as he looked down at the map, then shook his head. "Bah. We face doom regardless…"

Ludvig tilted his head, but decided not to press his younger counterpart - not in front of the others, at least.

"We do," he decided to press on. "But we prepare the ship. Agnarr, Sven, once the plan is finalized I want you two to take twenty good men to lead the way to the trilithon and prepare it. Then we'll reinforce you to a hundred warriors for the attack."

"And once we attack, what do we do? We may be able to steal some supplies."

"Hildebrand's right, we may be able to grab some Blackstone supplies," Ingvildr said.

"We'll determine that with the plan, but we need to crush the contingent and move on," Ludvig answered as he knew they would always be limited by time. "Now then, let's start discussing which contingent we could strike…"

The meeting went on for a bit longer before the settled on the coastal contingent - furthest from Asmodai's main camp which meant the longest time until he could get reinforcements to it. And as the others left, Ludvig waited around, keeping Sven behind as well, until the others had filed out and he was able to talk with the younger Warlord.

"Is something wrong, Jarl?"

"Before we started on the details," Ludvig asked as he frowned, "You mentioned Valdis…"

"I was reminded of the day before," he explained, "when we knew the Blackstones were coming. We split our forces, and that let Asmodai destroy us in detail."

"And now we return the favor."

"If the Allfather is with us, yes. But what of after?"

"After?"

"Let's say that we manage to force Asmodai to withdraw - he heads back to Harrowgate, goes to join with Apollyon, or maybe he flees in shame. What then?"

Ludvig frowned. He had not planned that far ahead.

"Perhaps because this is not my home, I am willing to say it, but…"

"We may need to consider abandoning Savona," Ludvig finished as his hands tightened.

Though Sven avoided eye contact, he nodded.

"Odin's beard, why would we abandon it after we drive him back?"

"If I thought it could be held, I would say we shouldn't. But if we do drive all thirteen hundred back, how many of ours will remain? How many young warriors will be ready to take up arms within the year?"

"Gods above…"

"We're both Warlords, and that means when the tempers are hot we need to be the ones to guide our people. To protect them. Jarl, if we break the siege… what is the best way to protect your people?"

Much as he wanted to say by defending the gates, Ludvig simply could not say it because there was a part of him that knew he was right.

_Shut up,_ he tried to tell himself. If he thought that, Asmodai already won.

"We don't have to surrender, nor should we," Sven continued, "but we need a plan for what happens afterwards. What the future of the Fairhair Clan will be."

"I… gods damn your sense," Ludvig finally relented. "We'll discuss it later, but until we have him on the ropes it's a moot point. We win or we die."

"Then it's victory or Valhalla," Sven answered as he slammed his fist against his chest in a salute. "You have my shield, Jarl, that hasn't changed."

Ludvig smiled weakly. "Sven, if you can learn to talk that sense and not make it sound like cowardice, you might be Gudmundr's equal one day."

"Hah! Not until I command wolves like men!"

The two laughed, the tension flowing away for the moment, before eventually the lingering shadow Asmodai cast sobered them to reality once more.

XXXXX

Since the ships returned empty handed, the Warborn had begun more attacks. They launched night raids, small groups of archers releasing a volley or two over the palisade towards the camps. While they did little in the way of casualties - the Blackstones and their auxiliaries lost more to dysentery than the attacks - it robbed the men of sleep. They did not know that they were just being poked, so armed up and then after waiting for some time finally went back to sleep, if they could after riling themselves up for battle.

The tactic was figured out after the third such attack as the rains had let up, and Cross ordered additional gates to be made and for Sir Leon's cavalry to take the night shift, stationing small groups near each camp's gate (new or not) with orders to ride out if their camp comes under attack and to run down the archers if they could before they wandered into range of the city's defenders.

The previous night they had some success, surprising the archers but they managed to narrowly escape with a few casualties. Still, it spoke well of their ability to keep the Vikings pinned and it was hoped that this would put an end to the night raids… or perhaps, finally draw the Vikings into overcommitting and trying to break the siege.

Especially as the initial high spirits that had marked their arrival had given way to boredom and dreary restlessness. Though the attempts by the Vikings to harass them had done some breaking of the monotony, most never saw the attackers. Which meant they were simply robbed of a good night's sleep on the heels of several days of terrible weather.

And not even good news from the north and of Jesolo's choice to bar the Vikings from a food supply lifted their spirits. It did at least give them something to discuss - which always seemed to be wondering just how one of the Blackstone Warlords persuaded the merchants to not fleece desperate people of their wealth.

They were not the only ones who were irritated from a lack of action. Joyeuse had missed every engagement so far, mostly due to just not being in the right position to do anything. Seeing the aftermath was the worst part - she kept wondering what she could have done had she been there.

But fortune finally passed her a bone - the night after Guy's successful attack on the skirmishers, Joy happened to be at the gate when a lone man approached, his hands in the air. Being at the gate, she had the guards open it and stepped out to speak to him.

He seemed to be a plain man of middle age, a thin black beard on his face and balding hair. If he was particularly strong or not, it was hidden by the dark cloak he was wearing over gambeson.

"I'm one of Savona's sergeants, and I've come to surrender and deliver a message," he said in Latin fluent enough that he was clearly a native speaker.

"What message?" she demanded, hand gripped around Dusk for a quick draw if needed.

"A chance to get into the city without a costly assault."

Joy nodded, and once the guards had searched him for weapons (none other than a small dagger he handed over before the search), and after blindfolding him as a precaution led him through the camp. Whispers shot through quickly, excited men waking up their comrades trying to fall asleep early. Joy allowed herself a small smile - if this was a good offer, it was just what they needed.

Eventually they reached Cross' tent, and the Lawbringer gestured them inside. Joy followed, the sergeant's escorts keeping him in between them as Cross had just covered the map on the table and the pieces on it.

"You know who I am, I trust?" he demanded as the blindfold was removed from the sergeant.

"Lord Holden Cross of the Blackstone Legion - known as Asmodai by the Warborn."

"And you are?"

"William, sir. A city sergeant of Savona."

"And what brings a city sergeant to our camp?" Cross continued as he folded his arms.

"To bring word - some of the men have been talking since the news came. We're only interested in protecting our city, but the Warborn are preparing to attack your men."

"And you have no interest in doing so?"

William shook his head. "No, we are not particularly interested in throwing our lives away. But we cannot simply refuse without being killed for impertinence. Their right, I suppose, but while they are eager to throw their lives away, we would rather live to protect our families."

"You said you could offer a way to take the city without a costly assault," Joy asked as she turned to look at him. "What are you asking?"

"I'm going to be noticed missing by the morning, but a group of sergeants will open the gates. Well, they will if the Blackstones mobilize to attack. You can ride your cavalry into the city, and overrun the Warborn. Let the Vikings die if they want to, and spare the rest of us."

That was exactly what Joy was hoping for and she was smiling as she fully understood what it meant. They could end the siege here and now.

"And what prompted this offer to come now of all times?" Cross asked, giving her a glare that made her wipe the smile from her face, before turning back to her. "We've been here for weeks."

"When we thought this was the usual back and forth, there was no reason for us to stick our necks out. We would simply be executed for betraying them - and I don't mean a hanging, but the blood eagle."

Joy winced - she knew what it meant, as did the guards who looked uncomfortable for a moment. Cross simply growled though, gesturing the sergeant onwards with a wave.

"But when we realized that Jesolo was cutting ties and that the Warborn were in retreat, well…" he hesitated, but kept going. "When men like that Warlord from Harrowgate started vanishing but boats left at night, we knew what it meant. They're going to try a desperate attack to force you away, or more likely die so they can go to Valhalla and drag us with them. We've got families to protect, even if they'll abandon theirs for pride."

"And to see the gates open, all we need to do is mass to attack the walls?"

"Yes, if we see the Blackstones marshalling we'll open the gates. But you have to do it soon - Jarl Ludvig will realize that something is up once he realizes I'm missing."

"I'm going to give you one chance," Cross started as he stepped forward and towered over him. "If this is some trick to lure us into a trap, speak up now. I won't punish you if you tell me it is. But if it turns out to be a trap and you withheld that knowledge, I will have you hung in a cage until you are near death, then disembowel you, until finally I put you out of your misery by having four horses pull you apart by your limbs."

Joy recoiled. "My lord…" she started, but Cross cut her off with a glare.

William gulped as he was being stared down by the Lawbringer, but managed to speak up. "The offer is true, my lord! I don't know how else I can prove it!"

"And if I decide not to take up your offer?"

"Then…" William faltered for a second, then sighed. "Then well, I'm your prisoner. There's no point in me returning - I barely was able to slip out before a huscarl came around."

Cross nodded, then looked to the guards. "Take him away and find a stockade. Make sure he's fed like one of our own, and he's not to be harassed."

The two guards bowed their heads and one gave William a tug. He glanced to them, nodded, then turned to Cross to bow before allowing them to lead him out.

Joy remained inside as Cross turned, pressing both his fists against the table and looking over the covered map. "My lord," she started, "was that…"

"Necessary?" Cross asked as he glanced back at her. "Yes, it was. How many lives are at stake if he is wrong?"

"Thirteen hundred or so, if we commit everyone."

"Exactly, and since the best men to get into the gates is cavalry, that means some of my best warriors," he finished as removed the cover over the map. "If he was simply pressed to tell a lie for a trap, he deserved a chance to tell the truth now that he had done his job in telling us. And to know the consequences if he was indeed lying."

"That I don't have a problem with - if he was lying, I would take his head off for it. But the cage? Drawing and quartering?"

Cross shrugged. "A touch of brutality always makes the point."

"If it makes the right one," she warned as she glanced at the map, then shook her head. "Not that it matters until we find out if he was telling the truth."

"It doesn't," the Lawbringer agreed as he looked down at the map. "Now that force he mentioned flanking may be a goose chase, but I'd rather be certain. I'm going to send Rufus and his rangers to sweep the woods, and I want you to take thirty legionnaires to support them."

Joy frowned. "With respect, my lord, I would like to be part of the force attacking Savona. If it is a trap…"

"We'll need the best in there - I intend to go with Guy's cavalry to take the gate. But while we focus on attacking the city, our flank will be exposed. If it is, I don't need to tell you the number of lives at stake from the camp followers. They'll be defenseless."

She wanted to protest - she had been sitting around missing the action, now she was being sent away from it?

But the idea of defenseless people? They were the supporters of the army; wives and children of the soldiers in question, others just following to pick up the odd jobs and earn a living, and the occasional travelling merchant or bard seeking to ply their trade. That she could not turn away from.

"Very well," she finally exhaled, feeling pinned.

Cross looked at her for a moment before he took the answer. "Good. Take Titus, Sir Hans, and Flavia's men. Between them you should have thirty, and with your previous experience that Warlord shouldn't be a problem."

"That's why you're sending me - because we were on opposite sides of a battle?" she frowned. "Sir, with respect, Sir Stone would be better suited for this. He actually fought the man."

"I need him and his men to follow up Guy's cavalry at the gate," Cross answered. "And yes, I am sending you because of the past history, but also because I know you can cut those Vikings down. It is no slight, Warden."

"I never said it was."

Cross simply quirked an eyebrow, then shook his head. "Regardless, I leave it to you and Rufus to figure out how you want to search the woods. You'll leave as we mobilize in the morning. Happy hunting, Warden."

"Thank you, sir."

Bowing her head as he dismissed her, Joy was not quite certain what to make of it. On one hand, it was a chance to finish what she had started at Harrowgate and he was right - if they exposed the flanks, the camp followers would be vulnerable. On the other hand, she could not help but feel like she was being cut out of the main attack…

_Stop worrying about it,_ she told herself. _You're a Warden - defending people is what you dreamed of._

But another part of her was uncomfortable with the terms she knew would be given to the survivors, terms she had given as she had attacked settlements.

_Liberating them,_ another part of her insisted, but it simply left her with more questions she was only able to brush aside as she talked to the knight, the two sergeants, and the ranger she would be commanding for the mission.

XXXXXX

When the bells started ringing early in the morning, both Ludvig and his wife were out of their bed immediately.

After dressing in a shirt and grabbing his sword, he made his way out and one of his men ran up to him.

"Jarl, it's the Blackstones - they're mobilizing!"

"So, that's how it's going to be?" he growled, as if talking to the enemy commander. "Very well then… Einar, get all men to the walls - and ring every bell, blow every horn - I want the noise to carry all the way to the trilithon!"

"Right away!" the huscarl hurried off to pass along the orders, and Ludvig turned back to his room to fully kit out for the day's battle.

He needed Sven to get moving, _now_. If he made the dangerous assumption that they heard the noise and immediately acted on it, it would take him at least two hours to march there. But if the city could slow the Blackstones down that long? Sven and Agnarr would be able to cut into the flank, and perhaps shatter their morale if the Blackstones thought more had come than they actually had…

He shove the thought aside as he dressed himself in his mail. He had to hold the Blackstones back - but it had to be premature, they had not finished all their siege towers. And what towers they had would need time to get into position…

Striding out of the keep and making his way to the walls, Ludvig knew this was going to be one of his hardest battles. As he passed down the main street, people were scurrying about, hiding in their homes to wait out the coming battle, and it fell to him and his warriors to protect them from Asmodai's thugs. Joined by his wife and his huscarls, his mind was awhirl with the battle plans they had laid out.

Then he saw light cracking through the…

"The gate!" he shouted, "Warriors to the gate!"

They sprinted ahead, rushing forward but as he kept moving the gate continued to open, giving him a distant view of the Blackstone cavalry massing around the ram along the main road…

And as he reached the now open gate and looked at the gate controls, he realized they had been sabotaged - two of his huscarls were trying to close it again, but the controls had been jammed.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Some sergeants opened it, then jammed the gate!"

"Where are the traitors?! I'll carve the bl…"

"They fled! And we've got the Blackstones coming!"

Ludvig turned as he heard horns - brass horns, and a charge bellowed. There was no time to close the gates…

"Shield wall! Shield wall!" he bellowed, "Form a shield wall, we have to hold this gate!"

What warriors were available at ground level - and a few sergeants - hurriedly came together to lock their shields together and point their spears towards the incoming cavalry. But trying to fill the gap in a gate wide enough for two wagons to pass through side by side with room to spare, they were too thin. They were only two ranks deep.

Glancing to the side, he saw Ingvildr standing next to him. "Ingvildr," he said, "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," she answered as she kept her grip firm around her spear, "We knew this was coming…"

"Not like this," he growled. "Hel take the traitors… Warriors!"

Those around looked to him as the enemy was riding forward.

"We might not've had breakfast," Ludvig started as he looked around, "but that's fine with me! By noon we'll be feasting in Valhalla with our ancestors, and the traitors will have new masters to chain them! I think we have the better deal!"

"Now stand fast, mark your man, and show them how Warborn die - heads held high, defiant until the end!" He took a moment to pause, inhaling as deeply as he could, and shouted one word that quickly echoed from the other Warborn taking up their positions.

" _Valhalla!"_

But even with all the bravado, a part of Ludvig knew that they were dead men and they were unlikely to kill many as the enemy cavalry was charging towards the forced open gate. They were only two ranks deep, and their spears were shorter than the lances of their foes.

If they were against naked horses ridden by wannabe raiders with hand weapons, then maybe the men on the walls above would be able to cripple the charge with arrows and bolts. Then while still too thin, the shield wall would be enough to stop them.

But these were knights - heavily armored men and women trained much like their own thegns and hersirs, whose horses were protected by quilted or mail barding. Or, in the case of the leader of the charge, actual metal plates. Their kin above and whatever sergeants actually remained loyal would not be able to stop them with arrows, and by the time the fire flasks were brought up and lit it would be too late. They had never planned for treachery.

The cavalry closed and the warriors were still shouting defiantly, ready to give an account for themselves against hopeless odds. Or most of them - a city sergeant in the shield wall broke and ran, and Ludvig found himself having a hard time blaming the craven fool.

Not that it would matter - the last living memory of the Jarl of the Fairhair Clan was the massive weight of the war horses crashing through and a metal tip going through and past his nose.

XXXXX

The city's sergeants were good to their word.

Some tried to fight with the Warborn, but most surrendered as the defector said they would. Stone took custody of them as he kept the gate secure and cleared the trampled corpses, ensuring a steady stream of Blackstone Legionnaires entering the city and spreading out to swarm it - with not even half the garrison they could have had, the Warborn were quickly rolled up and crushed other than the odd one trying to play hero like the fools who tried to defend the gate.

Or as Holden stopped a dane axe being swung down at him, this lone Raider lookalike who was defending a house and had already killed three of his legionnaires trying to take him down.

Pushing the dane axe back, Holden hit the man square in the helmet with the butt of his poleaxe, staggering the man and allowing the Lawbringer to shove his full weight into the man and send him through the door.

As wood splintered around them, he moved forward with a triumphant scream, staring down at his opponent and holding the tip of his axe towards his throat.

" _Leave him alone!"_

The shrill shriek in Norse nearly caught the Blackstone warlord off guard, but he turned in time to see a woman with a large knife charging him. He grabbed her by the hand, squeezing until she was howling in pain and the knife clattered to the ground. Then he threw her to the ground.

"Surrender!" Holden bellowed.

The would-be Raider coughed, trying to pull himself back up, but men that followed Holden had filed in and pointed their swords at them.

Then the Lawbringer heard it - a cry.

"A baby?" one of the legionnaires asked, glancing at his commander.

"Julia, check it out," he answered to one of the others. She nodded and moved in when the Raider tried to throw himself up.

" _You will not…"_

Holden kicked the man down again and held his boot on the would-be Raider's chest, pressing his weight onto it.

As the legionnaire moved into the house, she opened a curtain and turned. "Yeah, a baby… God, I think it's a newborn!"

The Lawbringer turned to look at the woman and felt his gut tighten as he realized her stomach was still rounded out.

"Let her go," he ordered to the legionnaire then turned to the woman. "See to your child."

She stared death at him, but after a moment looking at the man who was almost certainly her husband, she went. Julia let her pass, and Holden turned to the would-be Raider.

"I'm not going to kill them," he said as he looked down at him. "Now, surrender, and your family may return to Valkenheim with the rest."

The northman was still struggling, and Holden shook his head and turned. "Davis, bind this man, then safeguard the woman and child! If anyone tries to harm them, they'll answer to me."

"My lord!" Davis answered as he gestured for one of his men to start binding their captive.

Once the situation was well under control, Cross moved on towards the courtyard, a few legionnaires accompanying him as he made his way in. But no one else challenged them - the city's people were either in flight towards the docks only to be met by Sir Frederick and Dame Vorena's contingents who were seizing that part of the city, or had holed up in their homes.

"And so falls the Fairhair Clan," he growled as he reached the city center.

It was a fairly wide space before the city keep, once home to carnivals and fairs on the cobbled ground, now it had broken. The cobblestone was still there in a few spots, but much of it had been looted for building material, leaving only dirt. And in the center was a platform with a gallows erected, a man with a sign labeled 'Thief' in Norse runes hanging around his neck, along with the noose that strangled him to death.

Making his way towards it, he cut the man down and laid him next to the gallows. The dust was settling, which meant the heads of household - or whoever was left after the chaos - would be gathered and brought to the city center. There he would deliver the terms of the city's surrender to the Warborn who had settled, and cast out those who refused to kneel.

"Sacking, never a pretty song," he muttered to himself as he looked around at the city. He had left orders that, should the gate be opened as promised with no trap, they were to spare the inhabitants as long as they did not try to kill them. But he knew that there was always a couple who would think they could slip something in for themselves. Or in someone else. But that was war, and he had to deal with other matters, like the prisoners that would be taken.

He knew any of the Warborn warriors who survived were unlikely to be willing to be cast out, or would swear to their gods to not take up arms again. The Fairhair townsfolk? Quite likely, but the warriors? Hardly a chance, which meant he had to think to the logistics of prisoners. And that meant extra mouths to feed and keeping them guarded, and the only thing they might be good for otherwise was forced labor. Any more than a few prisoners… well, perhaps he did have another reason to send her after the attempted flanking force.

_Joyeuse…_ he thought, troubled. She was what one could expect from a Warden, but he could clearly see an eagerness. She was looking for glory - like any good knight, in fairness - but he had to wonder what it was she was really after. And Harrowgate - she was up to the mark, but the more he thought about it the more he realized that Joy was far too eager to jump into a suicide mission.

Any further thoughts were cut off as Lord Guy trotted into the city square with several of his knights, and Cross put his mind back to the task at hand.

XXXXX

"So, you think you'll be made his second after this?"

Joyeuse turned, frowning. "What makes you ask that, Rufus?"

"Just sayin'," the ranger answered with a shrug as they were making their way to the next rendezvous. "He's been having you run around dealing with the assorted shit we cause, he sends you to deal with a threat on our flanks… you're pretty much his second already. Just not actually sworn."

Thinking back to the last few days, she realized that he was right: even though she felt like she was idle, Cross had been sending her to deal with assorted matters, effectively to stand in for him. Most of it was minor - disputes between legionnaires, inspecting or performing daily rounds, and the like. But it was important work to keep an army together.

Which made her wonder: if he was going to employ her as his second, why was he hesitating? Some respect for Ademar, or something else?

That still bothered her when they hear something and tensed, only for several of the rangers to come out from the brush.

"God's grief, you almost gave me a heart attack!" Rufus snarled at his men. "We're not supposed to meet up for another quarter…"

"They're coming!" one of the rangers sharply warned, "Dame, they're coming right this way and coming fast!"

Joy immediately looked around - they were along something vaguely resembling a clearing, but that just meant the woods were a bit less dense. If they moved back a bit, they would have room to form a shield wall and be ready to intercept.

"Sir Hans, sergeants, move your men back twenty paces and form ranks! Rufus, get your rangers on our flanks!"

A chorus of acknowledgements later they had fallen back, and they did not have to wait long for their foes to come out of the brush, but they came out prepared. Forty men strong in their own shield wall, with a familiar Warlord in a wolf's pelt helmet at the front and a Berserker she did not recognize on the side.

"Advance!"

Joy's order moved the Blackstones forward as the rangers had spread out along the sides and loosed a volley of arrows. Most hit the shields of the Nordic warriors, but one arrow hit the Berserker square in the chest. He simply took it - almost certainly through mail and gambeson - laughed, and ran forward towards the side of the battle.

Joy immediately darted after him - if that Berserker got too close the rangers were as good as dead. They knew it too as Rufus ordered his men to back off, but two were not lucky enough to outrun the man sprinting like he was outrunning death itself, leaping and bringing both axes through one man's arms before turning to the other and with a spin, cut the man's legs out from under him.

That was his last attack on them as Joy immediately swung Dusk across his back, biting through mail and almost certainly cutting into his spine. He howled like a wounded dog, coming around to swing at her. She blocked one axe, but the second hit her shoulder guard. Before he could pull, something hit him in the back of the neck… the second ranger, an arrow already nocked when he fell, managed to shoot it from the ground.

Joy looked at him, staring as the dying man then started up a steady stream of curses from his bleeding knees, and the sounds of battle behind told her she had to move. "Thank you," she said, hoping he heard that praise before his wounds were too severe, and threw herself back to the fray.

" _Kill them so we can move on!"_ the Warlord bellowed as he was pushing against the legionnaires. Though he himself was busy fighting with Sir Hans and Titus - actually only Titus, as the Warlord managed to get around his shield and stab him in the shoulder before kicking him back into the ranks - the legionnaires and warriors around them were locked, but the Warborn were gaining ground.

There was only one target for her - she had to go for the head. Coming in from behind, Joy was able to cut down a pair of northmen before the Warlord, having knocked Titus back into the mass, saw her and turned to attack her. Joy took the challenge, stopping his initial swing with a deflection before trying to hit his side with two swift cuts. He stopped the first one cold and the impact against his shield prevented the second one.

Bounced back by the deflection, she faced off with the Warlord. He kept himself between her and his men as they moved side to side. He stared at her, pure hatred in his eyes.

" _You can end this,"_ Joy said as she looked at him, hoping talking to him in his own language might convince him. _"Savona will be liberated - but you don't have to die with its occupiers!"_

" _As you spared Valdis?!"_ he snarled back in his native tongue. _"We'll wipe out your thugs, and save our city!"_

She exhaled before answering in her native Latin. "It's not your city. It never was."

With that, she moved forward to attack, a high feint before going for the sides. It worked, sort of. Although he fell for it, despite his wound he he followed through what would have been a parry and she felt herself knocked back by a blow to her helmet. Head ringing as her helmet saved her life, her opponent leapt forward.

Joy darted to the left, narrowly evading his downward slash, and swung for a quick cut. It ran along his back, but he either had more layers or better armor than the Berserker did as that simply knocked him forward. He whirled around, shield in front of him, and the two caught their breath as they faced off.

Then they were back at it. Though the longsword gave her reach, his shield and sword did give him a number of defensive advantages, allowing him to generally keep her at a distance. He could block and then strike with his sword, as she found out as a heavy swing from her left was deflected by the shield and he immediately followed through with an under stab that she narrowly avoided.

But as she rolled with it, she managed to shove him around and as he staggered cut him along his leg. It was a shallow cut, only possibly because she had some more reach, but it hurt him.

"Give up!"

" _Why? My men rout yours!"_

Sparing a glance behind her, she bit back a curse as she realized that while he was exaggerating, they were being pushed back.

" _The desperation of Harrowgate turns against you, Warden,"_ the Warlord continued as he began to maneuver around. _"And Valdis will be avenged!"_

"I'm guessing that's the Valkyrie I killed," Joy shot back as she moved forward. He was ready, expecting an attack but she feinted without a follow through. He did not take the bait, but he kept his guard wary, shield held in front of him as she was too close…

Before he could capitalize on her unsupported feint, Joy shoved her weight into him, staggering him long enough for her to cut him. As he recoiled with a growl from his mailed arm taking the hit - and surviving thanks to his armor - she followed up with another shove.

He tripped backwards over a rock, into the brush and out of sight. When he did not immediately leap back up, and hearing the desperate shouts, Joy hurried back to the main fight.

As she was dueling that Warlord, the battle was turning against them as the Warborn were pushing forward. He was right - desperation was giving them a push while the Blackstones had other options, meaning they were getting ready to rout.

"Hold your ground!" she bellowed as she rammed Dusk through the back of a northern warrior, pulling it out and hurling the woman's corpse into her comrades.

Left, right, right, bringing Dusk around as a makeshift club to shove into a face - she waded in, and as the legionnaires saw her tearing into the Warborn they found their courage and held, the melee only getting bloodier as falling bodies and swiftly moving weapons pushed the formations apart.

Then she found herself facing one of her own, bringing her sword around and her own face freezing in the same fear in the eyes of the sergeant who had Dusk at her throat. Stopping herself and pulling the blade aside, Joy reached out and pulled the sergeant up.

"You alright, Flavia?"

"I'll be fine," the sergeant answered as the last few Vikings tried to run, but found themselves ran down instead - taken prisoner or killed.

The din of battle had faded, giving way to the cries and groans of the wounded as they bled.

And as she stood, her tabard stained with blood, Joyeuse looked to the survivors and almost winced - only half of them were still standing.

"Save who you can, and take what prisoners can be taken. Those who cannot survive…" her gut tightened, but she swallowed and finished the order. "Grace."

Though not everyone had been killed in the melee and a number of the wounded would be able to walk once their wounds had been bound, others would simply be impossible to save even if they had surgeons on-hand.

Kneeling next to one Blackstone who was missing both his arms and had been disemboweled, he was pleading with his eyes even as he could only whimper through the padded coif around his face. And Joy found herself with the unenviable task of putting him out of his misery as he stared at her.

'The blow of grace', as it was known as, was that final mercy. Joy never saw the grace in such an act - mercy, perhaps, but it still involved ending someone's life. And if fortune was against her, that someone would be a friend. And even if it was not, that was someone else's friend. But compared to the pain of a horrible and slow death, if treatment was not possible it was considered honorable to put them out of their misery.

Pulling the bloodied dagger back and quietly reciting a prayer for the fallen soldier, Joy rose. But as she did, there was movement in the brush. Frowning as she sheathed the dagger and pulled Dusk back out, she made her way over carefully only to find it was the Warlord, crawling in the dirt but quite alive, if incapacitated.

Sticking her blade before him so he saw the it, the Warlord stopped, looking up at her.

" _Finish it!"_ he snarled.

" _Those wounds are survivable,"_ she answered in Norse as she half knelt to look at him. _"You don't have to die today."_

He snarled back at her, but his grip on his sword was too weak and she easily knocked it aside. It would be easy to end it, especially as he fell unconscious afterwards. It might even be considered a mercy, given what he may endure if some of the men in the Blackstone Legion had their way with him.

_No,_ she decided. There were questions she needed answering - and some she would only get if she could talk to a Viking.

Looking back down at him, she noticed he had some rope hooked to his belt that looked to be well enough. Getting some help from a free legionnaire who had come over to investigate, she tied his hands together and set to using what little she knew to ensure the wounds did not bleed him out.

"Dunno why you're saving him," the legionnaire grumbled as the two finished.

"Same reason I might spare a knight," she answered as she looked at the woman. "The only difference is that he has his own gods, and his own idea of who owns Ashfeld."

The legionnaire shrugged, and as Joy checked her bandaging work one last time it was time to sort out cleaning up the rest of the aftermath - burying the dead after grabbing useful equipment they could carry from them, getting the wounded who would be able to survive back to the camp, and taking their prisoners too.

It was going to take a while, and they had far lost more than she would have liked, but the victory was total. Thirty three Warborn warriors dead, and actual warriors rather than youths on their first raid, along with eight captured. But the cost they paid - two rangers, eight legionnaires, Sir Hans, and six wounded?

Even if none of the injured suffered from infection in the coming days and recovered, Joy still felt like she had failed as they buried the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Savona's siege had narratively escalated in a big way from what I had originally planned. In my first drafts I actually intended it to be a hit and move on, focus on the aftermath of Savona's fall and the Blackstone's pushing the Warborn out, but after giving the defenders characterization… it just grew, and caught between actually following through with the (intentional or otherwise) setup and a growing arc that perhaps detracted from Joy's story, I chose to go with the above. Show the Viking side of Ashfeld's fall and more of the sides drawn in the conflict over the land, then bring Savona down.
> 
> To that end I do think that the defection of city sergeants was something of a cheat to move things along, but on the other hand that kind of thing is something that happened historically to bring a siege to its conclusion - a traitor changes sides, shows a way in, cue army swarming inside. I do hope that I at least explained it well enough to be understandable. There is still some more to do with it, but the good news is that it is the kind of stuff to move along characterization for Joy, and for the other Blackstones as well.
> 
> As a note on the geography, yes there is actually a river that runs across Ashfeld on the map, going from a bit east of the Blackstone Fortress all the way to Eitriualen. There's a few smaller lakes along it next to the sea, and it forks one half going to the lava, the other the river that runs through. 'Ashford' is probably a lazy name for it, but I've seen people use it to refer to Ashfeld so I thought, why not? It's a major defining feature of the region, same way there's the Mississippi River and Mississippi itself.


	7. Questions

"Ah, Warden. Good - the Warborn were dealt with?"

Joyeuse bowed her head. "Forty-one killed or captured, Lord Cross, but we lost eleven of our own, including Sir Hans."

The Lawbringer growled, looking towards the main gates as the rest of the contingent she took were making their way into the city. It was past noon when they returned, and Cross had met her on the road to the city center from the main gate. The city was eerily quiet, save for the noise of priests and those willing to help them in removing the dead from the streets, or Blackstone and allied soldiers talking to one another.

"I see you took their commander alive," Cross noted as he gestured towards the line of prisoners being dragged in, some barely conscious and just following along, others trying to show defiance in captivity. "Sir Davis!"

"Yes sir?" the other knight asked as he turned from discussing something with his men ten paces away.

"Take charge of the prisoners and lock them up in the city dungeon, we'll sort them out tomorrow."

"Understood. Sextus, Julia, come on you two, we've got work to do!"

As the exchange happened and the men in the contingent Joy led were given leave to see to their injuries properly, Cross gestured for her to walk with him down the main street.

Savona was typical as far as most cities went - a mix of stone and wood construction, often stone being the foundation with wood being most of the above-ground construction, save for certain buildings that were refurbished from ruins that managed to stand - those were either fully rebuilt, or the stonework simply rose further before it transitioned to wood.

"I take it the city sergeantry was good to their word?"

"They were," the Lawbringer growled as he shook his head. "A few tried to fight, but as a whole they stood down. I sent for the one who informed us to be released."

Beneath her helmet, Joy was able to finally smile from the day's events. "So, the people are finally rising up against the Warborn."

"Hardly," the snort from her superior was quick and without hesitation. "They saw the writing on the wall when Jesolo cut their trade. Speaking of them, within the next few days we should expect a ship and troops from those burghers."

"They're joining our campaign?" she asked, surprised by the sudden change of topic. "After Savona's fall and the news from the north, the other legions must be getting ready to join as well…"

"That I do not know. But the night before the sergeant arrived, one of our messengers passed through and delivered news from Lilith - she negotiated the agreement with Jesolo for them to cut trade from their port. In exchange, we're to return the city to them." He exhaled hotly, tightening his grip around his poleaxe as they approached the city center.

"It was their city before the Warborn invaded, they have a valid claim."

"Perhaps, but I'd prefer them to be under our banner directly… well, I'll have to see if she can continue negotiations. Once they arrive, we secure the rest of southern Ashfeld as we move north to join Apollyon."

As she considered what she knew of how Apollyon's campaign was going, she frowned as something nagged at her. "The Warborn can't let us keep kicking them around like this," she finally said. "We've been pushing them back constantly: their pride won't let them concede without at least one more grand campaign."

"It won't, which is why we need to move on to join the main host."

As they entered the city center, Joy was immediately struck by the number of carts and wagons being pulled in front of the buildings. "And those here?" she asked.

"The terms remain the same, and most of them intend to leave before the patricians arrive."

The implication as to why that was their date to leave needed no elaboration, and Joy had to wonder as she looked at one family gathering around a cart what the fate of those who chose to left was. Although they were the invaders, they were still leaving behind their livelihoods.

_Don't worry about it,_ she tried to tell herself, _they made the trip here, they can make it back to Valkenheim._

"Warden?"

Jolted from her thoughts, she turned to look at Cross. "Sir?"

"Worrying about the settlers?"

"A bit," she admitted.

He looked at her, expression hidden by his helmet, but eventually he shrugged. "I'd be worried if you weren't, but this is a mercy. The Warborn enslaved many when they came the first time."

"I know."

"Good. Now unless there's something else you need to talk to me about, you're free to spend your time as you see fit. The contingent leaders, as well as some others, are going to be quartered in the keep. That includes you, Warden."

"Thank you."

XXXX

"Warden! Didn't expect to see you here at this hour. I thought you'd be sleeping in after yesterday."

Joy looked at the two legionnaires assigned to guarding the dungeon, specifically the one who spoke up. "I wanted to check on the prisoners. Are they cooperating?"

"For now," the second - and shorter - one answered as he pushed himself from leaning on the wall. "The cells are rather packed, but they know they don't stand a chance." He tapped the falchion at his belt with a smug grin.

"I want to talk to one of them," she explained as she glanced past the guards. "The Warlord I captured yesterday. There's a table outside the main cells I can use, right?"

"Certainly, but you already beat him once, why would…" the first legionnaire paused, frowning as he tilted his head towards the two wooden mugs she was carrying. "Er, you don't…"

Her glare, narrowing lips and eyes made particularly visible by her complete lack of a helmet, made him back down.

"Right, of course a Warden wouldn't do it. Sorry, dame, just seen some things."

"And that's why Lord Cross put the two of us on guard duty, Marcus," the second one answered.

"Maybe, Jacob," he conceded with a shrug. "But we've got no orders forbidding it, so if you want to talk to him go ahead. We'll be listening the whole time though." He jerked a thumb towards the door behind him, which had a window in the upper half with bars. "No side room."

"That shouldn't be a problem, I just want some answers."

"Right. Keep that sword at the ready, just in case." Marcus muttered as he unhooked the keys and unlocked the first door, then led her in as Jacob remained outside.

Joy had seen the inside of the dungeons before; not just the one under Sandshore Castle, but also others on her way to Ashfeld. Most of them were either a common area that all were just dumped into, or had one larger cell for most as well as an additional one or two for particularly important prisoners.

Savona's dungeon was one of the more sophisticated she had seen - arranged into several cells, in which there were several Warborn prisoners per cell. All of them were on the far side of the square room, past a doorway that was at the moment lacking a door and split into two blocks of two. Light came in from several grates along the upper wall near the ceiling, all on the right side, giving those nearest a chance to see what was happening in the city center.

And in the center of the main room was a simple wooden table with a few stools around it. It was well worn, bearing bored cuts, graffiti, and enough dents that it almost certainly had more than one prisoner (or guard) slammed into it, but it otherwise seemed stable. She left the two mugs on the table as they passed.

The prisoners stirred as they realized they had visitors. The would-be Raider that Cross had fought inside the city in his tunic. A number of Fairhair Clan warriors, now stripped of their wargear and with only their tunics and trousers. One city sergeant who had stood with the invaders but managed to avoid dying in the ensuing battle. And the Warlord, in the cell to the furthest to her right, almost unrecognizable without his helmet or armor. The complex braiding of his beard stood out nicely instead.

"Right you lot, step away from the door," Marcus growled as he prepared to open the cell. "Your lucky day, Warlord, you've got a Warden who wants to talk to you."

"Come to gloat?" the Warlord growled as he looked at her, wrists bound in iron shackles before him. "Or are you going to finish what was started at Harrowgate?"

"Neither," she answered as the cell door was opened. "I want answers."

"You'll find few," he snorted as he stepped out out the cell, head held high as Marcus locked it behind him.

After moving back to the table, Joy sat on the side towards the door out while the northman settled down opposite of her, still glaring.

"Call when you're done," the legionnaire said as he stepped back out and locked the dungeon behind him.

The room fell silent, the two facing each other from opposite sides of the table. And past them, Joy could see the other prisoners staring - they hardly had anything better to do.

"There's some water, if you're thirsty," Joy gestured towards the mugs, and took one to drink for herself. "It's not poison."

He took the other, but did not drink, still staring at her with his face tightening as she drank from her own mug. As she put it back down he remained silent, so she decided she would have to make the first move.

"I suppose we should be properly introduced," she said. "I'm Dame Joyeuse Maylis, a Warden in service to the Blackstone Legion."

The Warlord glanced at the plate over her chest for a moment, before looking back at her. "Sven Borson, a Warlord of the Seacrow Clan."

Joy nodded. "I know the Seacrows have a hand in most of the Warborn's actions in Ashfeld. But what brought you here, part of an army?"

"Are we trading life's stories?" he asked, tilting his head. "If that's what you're after, you would have better luck with that Conqueror who failed to defend Harrowgate."

"Sir Stone would have held out long enough," she shot back. "You were battering down the inner gate, but the garrison was still fighting back. Lord Cross and his army would have still driven into your backside."

Sven rested his back against the chair. "I suppose we'll never know, thanks to you."

"No, we won't."

"And nor will my uncle be able to see his daughter again, after you beheaded her. Let me guess, she was stripped naked and displayed at the gate?"

"We put your dead in a common grave, and though the Valkyrie's head was left at the gate as a warning to any other attackers." She paused briefly before adding, "It's been buried with her body by now."

He tensed regardless, eyes narrowing at her. "Valdis was my cousin, and you speak so freely of mounting her as a trophy?"

"A warning, one taken down once no longer needed. Besides, you expect me to believe that the Warborn don't display their kills? You proudly hang prisoners as sacrifices."

The Warlord's grip tightening around the mug before he paused, took a deep breath, and answered. "To be offered up to the gods is an honor, one your people do not appreciate. But I suppose to you, it would seem the same."

"What was she like - before she led an army into Ashfeld?"

"Why do you ask?" Sven was not accusing, in fact if anything the earlier tension seemed to be steadily leaving, and after he asked he took a drink from his mug. Though he had to use two hands - probably because both were still bound together.

"I want to understand," Joy answered as she glanced towards the light coming from the grates. "I know the Warborn have come to take Ashfeld, but why with such ferocity? Why so deep inland rather than sticking to the coasts within range of your ships?"

"You do not know, do you?" he leaned forward. "Those rangers scouring the woods - they weren't a vanguard, they were scouts looking for us."

She paused a moment, weighing how much she should reveal, before answering realizing it did not really matter at that point. "We knew you were in the woods. If we didn't, you would have marched unchallenged into our camps."

The Warlord shrugged as he straightened. "It seems we were fated to battle there, and so far the Allfather favors your audacity. But I wonder, when will it turn on and consume you as it did Valdis?"

"There's only one God whose favor I worry about, Warborn."

"Hah!" he barked, leaning back. "The only answer yours would accept!"

As he settled against the back of his chair, he glanced back to the prisoners behind, then to her. "But you don't truly know why our raids began, do you?"

"You suddenly returned as the ashes of Mount Rust cleared, and the Iron Legion wasn't ready," Joy answered, taking a drink as he continued. "After a few years of purely raiding, the next wave of attacks started taking coastal villages and holding them, along with more raids."

"We came down because of Mount Rust. While those near it suffered, it was those to the north who choked in its ash. For two years, we had frozen rivers. Our crops withered and livestock died. So we came south, to find food."

"That was decades ago - my father was a still a squire when it erupted!"

"Aye, but why should we leave our family's fate to chance? When we realized the Iron Legion was not what it once was," he trailed off for a moment, tilting his head side to side as if weighing how to phrase it. "Who were we to turn down the Allfather's favor for our audacity in launching such great raids?"

"That's it?" Joyeuse almost slammed her mug into the table. "You just conquered a land because you could, enslaving and casting out the people living peacefully for no higher purpose?"

He raised an eyebrow at her outburst. "And how are we truly different, Warden? Your Blackstone Legion is doing just that as they gain the upper hand. How long is the trail of refugees?"

The villages she went through flashed through her mind as she pressed both hands against the table, half rising. "It exists because we showed mercy, whereas your people enslaved, murdered, and pillaged."

"And yet your legion entered this city by the deeds of one we spared," he spat. "If we were the monsters you thought we were, this conversation would not be happening."

Joy growled, leaning forward. "No one else has to die, Warlord. You've certainly heard the terms being offered by now."

"Aye, you're looking for thralls to till your fields."

"Subjects, not slaves."

"Hah," Sven barked with a shake of his head. "If you weren't interested in slaves, why bother taking my warriors prisoner? Why bother with prisoners at all? Ashfeld may have rich soil, but with the wars she can hardly afford many idle hands!"

"You think I took you prisoner because I wanted slaves?" Somehow, Joyeuse felt that her hopes were too high to expect them to think of better reasons.

"Why not?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "Even if you're not interested in selling us to some lord who needs new serfs at his manor, you've got an army on the march."

Joy's eyes narrowed, and she wondered if she really had the answers she was looking for when she took him prisoner. And whether she did or not, the prisoners would need to be dealt with. That would be a matter to consult her commander about - though he had the final say, she had the right to weigh in on their fate.

"We'll see," she finally answered.

Sven growled as he looked down at the mug he had emptied, then to the door. "You should probably look more closely at your allies, Warden, if you intend to remain in grace with your order."

"And what makes you say that?"

"You have yet to meet Apollyon, I imagine, but surely you've heard of the one who betrayed the Blackstones, and fought alongside Holden Cross' second."

Joy's gut tightened instantly as she felt something was very wrong. "Sir Ademar is dead…"

"He is?" Sven asked, surprised. "Huh. That explains why he was not at Harrowgate… wait, Asmodai advanced from the south." His mouth hung half open as he looked at her. "You killed him, didn't you? And took his position as your plunder?"

"I fought him to save lives!" she snapped, rising to her feet with both her fists pressing against the table. "Daubeny refused to surrender, and trial by combat was the only way it wouldn't end with the garrison being slaughtered!"

"And did this Daubeny lie dead when you joined his enemies, his warriors claimed by the victor, or does he still live and you betrayed your oath to him?"

She started to answer about being elevated to a knight sworn to a legion, but thought better of it as she realized just how hollow it sounded. Not that Sven missed the blatant stop, simply tilting his head further until she finally answered.

"Sir Holden Cross offered trial by combat when he had no reason to," Joy explained, staring down the northman. "And he abided by its results when I won. He even knighted me into the Blackstone Legion for my valor! Compared to serving a coward who wouldn't fight for his men, how could I turn down such an honor?"

"By honoring your oaths to the warlord you chose to serve?" Sven asked, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly between sentences and gaps. "Admittedly you _were_ probably more of a warrior than he was, but you had an oath sworn beforehand, did you not?"

"Being knighted into a legion absolves other oaths of service, if it is accepted by a knight bachelor without one," her answer was quick and automatic, even if it did feel like explaining the obvious to her. But something felt off…

"I heard an 'if' in there… you could have turned him down?"

Wincing as she realized she let him corner her, Joy shook her head. "Holden Cross is far more honorable than Daubeny ever was, actually caring about his fellow knights while Daubeny kept me in his castle rather than let me help Harrowgate."

"You wanted freedom, and instead made yourself a slave to another master." Sven leaned against the table to get as close as he could to her face. "I thought Wardens were supposed to be so much more. But I suppose the Blackstones attract the failures of your order… how long until you realize your failure, though?"

_That's it_ , she decided as she sharply turned away. "I'm done here!" she called to the guards. A moment later, both Jacob and Marcus came in, keys at the ready.

"Think hard, Warden," Sven continued as he shrugged and stood to await the guards. "There's more to honor than simply beating your foes."

Joyeuse simply rolled her eyes and walked out of the dungeon, waiting just long enough for the guards to return to their post before moving back above ground.

_What does he know?_ She thought as she strode up the stairs. He was a Warborn Warlord: he was leading a war party that had ravaged the countryside around Harrowgate for supplies, who had hanged several knights and legionnaires who had survived being part of defeated relief efforts. Whose spree of conquest would not have ended with Harrowgate, and who knows how many who had hid in the sanctuary would have been raped, murdered, or sold into slavery? What right did that savage crow have to lecture a…

"Dame Maylis!"

Jolted from her thoughts as she was striding through the city center, Joy turned sharply to see a familiar knight, whose heraldry prominently portrayed a stag with the Blackstone Legion crest just above.

"Sir Leon," she responded as she briefly dipped her head. "How are your men?"

"Doing well, thank you for asking," he returned the gesture. "However, we need to address the issue you had with one of my legionnaires, Richard of Lion's End. The siege of Savona is over and you are both in good health."

"Oh. _Him._ " She had almost forgotten in the boredom of the siege. "He has one last chance to withdraw his slander. Otherwise," Joy found herself clenching her fist, "he'll realize why it's a mistake to insult a knight's mother."

"I told him to do so, but he's always been stubborn. It's usually a boon," Leon admitted as he gestured towards the keep. "There's a room suitable for sparring on the ground floor, facing the harbor. It looked like the Vikings set it up for a holmgang or whatever their special trial by combat is."

Part of her wanted to doubt it since an island in the middle of the squat stone structure was highly unlikely, but she was not in the mood for humor. "Then let's deal with it. Does he have a second?"

"Aye, Legionnaire Krassus, though I convinced them to simply let Krassus call should Richard be too wounded. He's a good legionnaire, and I would like to keep him for further battles."

"I won't kill him," she promised. "But I will have satisfaction from first blood."

"More than fair," the contingent leader agreed. "I'll inform the commander so you have the time to prepare. The Legionnaire is already waiting."

"Thank you, Sir Leon." She dipped her head again, and the two parted ways. She briefly considered heading back to her room to grab her helmet, but decided against it. She was not going to need it.

After all, what was a common - if admittedly veteran - legionnaire going to be able to do against a Warden?

XXXXX

Knights fought duels for many reasons. For the practice as two friends sought to ready themselves for the ultimate test of their ideals, for the honor and glory within the knightly tourney, as part of a war when two encountered each other in the field.

Or, in this case, to settle a matter of insult when offense had been given.

Stone had overseen such affairs several times during his stint as Harrowgate's commander. Though he had never overseen something as blatant, or lopsided, as this. Yet even as he saw poor Richard as a man about to take a beating, he had to admit a certain amount of respect. The legionnaire was not backing down despite being prepared to fight a Warden who had turned certain defeat into a heroic victory, and Joyeuse was allowing him to fight for his statements rather than invoke her highborn status to simply have him beaten, as most Royals tended to do.

"So, you want to place a bet?"

Stone turned to his left, to a knight with a crescent on his tabard. "Not particularly, Sir Davis," he answered. "It's that lopsided."

"I was actually thinking of a bet regarding how stubborn the legionnaire would be," he answered. "I'm not sure how aware you are on dueling etiquette…"

"I know it," he answered. "I oversaw plenty at Harrowgate." Still, the idea of that stubbornness suddenly made him uneasy, especially as he remembered what had caused this.

Not that he had time to think more on the matter as the door open and Joyeuse walked in, hand resting on Dusk's hilt. She looked across the crowd, made up almost entirely of the commanders of Holden Cross' army, the only ones missing were the man himself and Sir Leon.

"Sir Stone," Joy called as she approached him, a few strands of her blond hair falling over her blue eyes as she reached him.

"Warden?" he asked, dipping his head to her.

"I need a second, and I would like you to be it."

Stone glanced at Richard and his comrade, then back to her. "Alright. What should I do?"

"If he somehow incapacitates me, concede for me and get me to Sister Noelle." Joy grinned, teeth showing. "Not that he will."

"The fool should just apologize for his insult," Davis remarked, shaking his head as Stone glanced back briefly before he turned back.

"I'll be your second, but be careful," he warned, lowering his voice. "I don't think he intends to win."

"That's fine," she answered with a shrug. "I won't allow him to."

_This is going to end badly,_ he thought as he simply nodded and she stepped away as Holden Cross entered the room, notably only wearing an arming jacket in terms of armor, Sir Leon close behind him.

"Right then," Cross growled as he looked at Richard. "Legionnaire Richard, do you have anything to say for yourself about this?"

"As I said to the Warden last month," the legionnaire answered as he scowled towards Joy, "The dead don't rest easy unavenged."

Cross pressed his teeth together, glancing to Joy, then back to the legionnaire and his friend. "Fine then. Sir Leon, handle the duties."

The knight with a stag on his tabard bowed his head and stepped into the center of the ring.

"Knights, good sirs and ladies, this is a duel of honor issued by Dame Joyeuse Maylis against Legionnaire Richard of Lion's End, who in the march towards Savona called the Wardens sellswords and oathbreakers before saying her mother was a whore…"

" _IDIOT!"_

" _What a moron…"_

" _Was he drunk?!"_

" _Why are we wasting time on this?"_

" _Just have him flogged!"_

" _Beat him down, Warden!"_

The questions and commentary rang out immediately from the various contingent leaders and knights, before Cross silenced them by banging his fist against one of the columns holding the room up.

"Thank you, my lord," Leon said as he dipped his head towards their commander. "Now, I have consulted with the Dame and she has assented to a duel to the first blood. Seconds are to concede should the participants be incapacitated - Dame, you have a second?"

"I've agreed to be her second here," Stone declared, standing so they could see him. "And I will uphold her promise to concede should she be incapacitated in the duel."

"Good. Legionnaire Krassus?"

The older soldier also stood. "I am second for Legionnaire Richard, and should he be incapacitated I will concede on his behalf."

"Then it is decided. The duel shall be to first blood, and satisfaction had from such. Lord Cross, will you witness?"

"I will," he growled as he folded his arms, looking at the two. "Settle this quickly."

"Very well. Before we begin, is there anything that either of you wish to say? Dame?"

Joy took a step forward, and at that point Stone realized she did not have her helmet with her. "I know you are still angry about Westhold, but this is not about that. This is about you slandering my mother - apologize for that, and no one has to get hurt today."

Richard sneered, stepping forward with his full armor rattling, a small bounce as the face plate he recently added to his helmet bounced in the hinge it was attached by. "The dead do not rest easy unavenged, Warden, especially when you continue to take the glory for yourself! When this is over, everyone will see who you really are!"

Stone felt something gripping his stomach as Richard lowered his visor and saluted with his flail and heater shield, while Joy drew her sword and saluted. One was taking this dead seriously, the other saw a fight that was beneath them.

Cross saw it as well, as Stone caught sight of the Lawbringer's jaw lowering briefly before he snapped it shut as Sir Leon stepped back.

"On three!" the contingent leader called. "One!"

Joy smiled as she tightened her grip around Dusk.

"Two!"

Richard's grip around his flail tensed as he started to swing it lightly…

" _Begin_!"

Joy was the first to move, striding forward with her guard ready as the legionnaire began to spin his flail up for a strike. Joy changed her guard, swiftly bringing it around but Richard's shield got in the way and he managed to deflect the blow and brought the flail around in the same motion.

Joy dodged back, evading the spiked ball before she pounced on him in the follow through, grappling and hurling him towards the middle of the ring. And as he stumbled down to the ground, the knights around the ring were cheering Joy on, mostly to beat the legionnaire down.

"Not bad!" Joy complimented as she followed up by pointing her sword at the legionnaire's face as he came around. "But you're out of your league, legionnaire. Yield."

"Never!" he shouted, knocking the sword aside with his shield and shoving himself backwards, staggering back up as the Warden recovered and came at him again. Richard fared a little better this time and had a rhythm that Stone recognized all too well, blocking with the shield to attack back with the flail, but his timing was still too slow. Against other Vikings that worked fine, but he was up against a Warden.

This time she caught the flail with Dusk, the ball and chain wrapping around the blade, before tugging it out of his hands and in the same motion striking his side with the edge. A splatter of blood came from the legionnaire and hit the floor.

" _That's first blood!"_ he heard Dame Vorena shout, loudest in the crowd as Joy discarded the flail to the ground.

"You stood for your insult," Joy started as Richard pulled himself back up, "and have bled for it. For that, you have my respect."

"That's easy to say," Richard snarled as he pulled a Viking seaxe from his belt to replace his lost flail. "But if I gave up so easily, I wouldn't be a Blackstone Legionnaire!"

"Neither would I," she answered as she entered her guard again. "I've had satisfaction, concede so we can both move on!"

"Not yet!" He lunged.

Stone simply winced as Joy maneuvered around the side, shifted Dusk to half-sword a trip, pulling the legionnaire's leg out from under him so he face planted on the floor. He was turning himself around as Joy strode forward, scowling at him.

"The duel is over," she snarled as she held Dusk to the side. "You lost. Concede and apologize."

"Not until you've apologized for those you murdered!" he bellowed as he staggered back up, bringing his shield up in time to stop Joy from swinging it into him and he attempted a stab back, but Joy deflected it with her left hand, the blade sparking as her steel gauntlet caught the blade and knocked it towards the ground.

Then she punched Richard, knocking him back and almost into the crowd if not for the wooden railing that had been installed, but the knights nearby immediately backed away - and one spilled her mug of ale over her tabard.

"I've murdered no one!" Joy shouted even as that knight was complaining about the spill. "What is your problem, Richard? Do you want me on my knees begging to be forgiven for following my oaths?!"

"That'd be a start!" he answered as he swung his shield, but Joy simply darted back before charging into him again, shoulder checking him into and through the railing.

As the splinters cleared and the knights recovered, they saw Richard yet again getting back up, and all Stone could do was watch in horror as he realized exactly what was going on… "It's not worth it!" the Conqueror warned, "He's baiting you!"

"Legionnaire!" Leon shouted as he tried to step into the ring, "This has gone far enough!"

"Don't!" Joy shouted, turning towards the two, "This is between the two of us!"

"Is it?" Richard asked, rushing her in an effort to tackle her. He managed to grapple, but she pushed him back before grabbing him by the shield and pulling him around, sending him into a post.

"I don't take pride in the men who died that day!" she bellowed as she used her free hand to grab his shield and hurl him into the ground with it. "Do you think I wanted to serve a coward once I realized what he was?!"

She had put her boot down on the inside of the shield, pressing it down so the legionnaire could not move it back up, and he was straining loudly, his arm being dislocated by the angle. And still Joy continued. "Yes, I'm sorry that your friends died! But that's the danger of our vocation: we all risk our lives, regardless of how worthy the cause is!"

Whatever cheering had come before was replaced with stares as the crowd quieted, watching as Richard threw his free hand towards her other leg, trying to disrupt her balance. Despite putting as much force behind it as he could muster, all he could do was hurt his sword arm against her steel greaves. Joy sheathed Dusk as he kept hitting and then reached down, pulling him up by the scruff of his shirt sticking out from his brigandine. Once he was at eye level, she ripped the faceplate to its raised position so she could look him in the eye.

And as the two stared, Joy suddenly seemed to lose steam, looking at the fear in the man's eyes and she let him go. Richard dropped, stumbling backwards and was half bent over as he stopped.

"Too late, Warden," he coughed, spitting up blood as he tried to undo the straps on his shield. "We all saw it. You talk…" cough, "you talk of humility, of integrity… and what do you do? Beat me like all the other Royals would."

Joy turned away, closing her eyes as she looked down, and Stone saw her hand clenching into a fist.

"In the end… are you really a Warden, or a Royal brat playing at one? You just couldn't walk away, no, you had to take your pound of flesh…" he coughed, hacking it several times before he finally spit another spot of blood. "Is your… is your honor that fragile?"

"You idiot…" Stone groaned and at that point Joy whirled around and punched him square in the face. Blood splattered out as the legionnaire's nose broke against her armored fist, and Richard himself was knocked back into another column and collapsed to the ground. He was still alive, but made little motion besides twitching.

"Legionnaire Krassus!" Joy snapped, turning to his second.

There was no answer.

" _Legionnaire!"_ she repeated.

Jolted from seeing his friend bloodied, the legionnaire looked to Joy, then to Sir Leon, then to Cross, then finally took a deep breath. "We concede. You will have your apology, Warden, for his remarks."

Joy was still glaring death as she looked at him, but as the words registered she turned, striding towards the door and leaving the room quiet.

Stone stood, watching unsure of what to make of the display before him. On one hand, he wouldn't take someone mocking his mother very well either - especially since she had died hiding him away from a Viking raid when he was eight - but this? This was something else.

"Before anyone forgets," the Warden added as she stopped at the door. "Get him to Sister Noelle. I'll tell her, but someone needs to carry him."

The venom in that request to tend to her defeated foe spoke for itself as she then strode out, leaving Stone as the first one to move to get the wounded man to a healer, as Sir Leon was quickly caught having a talk with Cross.

But as Stone helped Krassus get the wounded legionnaire to his feet and started carrying him towards where the army's healers were quartering with the wounded, the Conqueror had to wonder. He knew that the reality was never as pretty as the legends said - that was a lesson he learned plenty growing up in Ashfeld. But even he was not prepared for how quickly Joy went from elegantly outmaneuvering him to simply pounding concession out of him. Not that she really had a choice with his stubbornness.

_It's not like I would've done anything different,_ Stone decided as they made their way down the wall. He had certainly entered a few duels over a joke gone too far or to bring arrogant recruits down to size. Still, he had to wonder how it was affecting her since this was neither of those.

"Bit surprised you're helping," Krassus finally said, "I would've thought you'd be like the rest…"

"Thinking he deserved it?" the Conqueror started as he tilted his head, jolted from his thoughts. "Oh, he did. I'd have done much the same."

"So why are you helping?"

"Because he's got a broken nose and worse wounds. Just because he deserved it doesn't mean he should die for it. Which, if it was me pounding him, probably would've happened."

Krassus did not seem very reassured as they approached their destination and a woman in a nun's habit was already waiting.

"Get him in here, I need to clean those wounds immediately!" she ordered, and the two obliged. It quickly became apparent that Richard would be fine, and with that Stone made his way to speak to his commander.

As he walked down the halls of Savona's keep, he still had to wonder. Had that duel changed his opinion of the Warden? On one hand he had seen her beat a man down for a slight - a slight that would be ignored between warriors who had fought alongside each other as simply tossing shit. But on the other he was faced with knowing that the legionnaire had actually gotten off lightly and she had actually given him the chance to defend himself. But did that mean she was any less of a Warden, proven by the beating he knowingly took?

_Nah_ , he decided as he really considered it. She was human, just like the rest of them. He had known that when they met during the siege, and now he was certain of it. In a way, that was rather comforting to be sure that Wardens, beneath that legendary valor, were still human beings like the rest of them.

XXXXX

After telling the nun in charge of the army's healers of the newly wounded legionnaire, Joy had strode out of the keep and stopped for nothing. That Warlord, the fool of a legionnaire… both of them seemed to be dedicating themselves to dragging her down, trying to make a mockery of her vows. She was a Warden, the best of the knights in ideals and skill, and that legionnaire had the audacity to question her when she had dignified him with a battle? It was well within her right to simply order him beaten as chastisement!

Indeed, she had seen just a thing happen as she freelanced her way into Ashfeld. As she fought alongside a lord in Austrus, a soldier in an allied legion was making a mockery of that lord's lisp. It was hardly a clean thing to do, but not everywhere allowed lessers to insult the highborn and then be able to defend their insults! In some legions and lands, there were lords who would throw them in the stocks for days for doing it to their faces.

_So why does it bother me?_ Joy asked herself as she strode down Savona's empty streets, barely acknowledging the Blackstones stationed at various points on guard duty as they dipped their heads or wished her a good morning. Even the pain in her hand from punching Richard was numb, a mere shadow compared to the questions bothering her.

Did they bother her because they had a point, and deep down somewhere she knew they were right? She had her questions after all: why was it that even the diehard homesteaders were so afraid of the Blackstone Legion? Why did so many doubt their offer of safe passage if they were willing to concede defeat and return to Valkenheim? Why was Ashfeld fought over so fiercely, fierce enough for it to be a destination for someone who wanted to place her blade before a worthy cause?

It was not what she had envisioned, even the heroism of Harrowgate had lost some of its luster when it came time to lay the dead to rest and to see just how many had been innocents caught in the battle. But it was supposed to be simple: the Vikings were invaders, conquering Ashfeld's people and subjugating them. The knights were to drive them back, liberating those once under their protection. Of course it was more complicated as the Iron Legion had decayed and abandoned its Ashfeld chapter, leaving the Blackstones to pick up the slack, but in the end it was still supposed to be that simple story.

Then again, if the story was to be so simple, why did her adventure in Ashfeld begin with defecting from a fellow Warden to the legion that attacked him? The answer came quickly: Hervis was a coward, who shamed his family name, any others of the Daubeny dynasty would forever have to battle the cowardice that their present patriarch had shown, who would be shamed by his failures as a Warden once Anastasis could send someone to investigate what she had reported.

But that answer seemed hollow as…

"Look out!"

Joy was snapped out of her thoughts, jumping back just in time to avoid a barrel rolling out of a nearby building and hitting a torch post, rattling it and almost knocking off the unlit brazier at the top.

Two young men hurried out of the building, followed soon by a third and older man with his arm in bandages: a father and his two sons.

"Mi'lady, I'm sorry, I did not…" the father started, horror clear despite the thick brown beard covering his face.

"I'm okay," she answered as she looked at them, then to the barrel. "What was that?"

"I lost my grip on a barrel of winter clothes," the man explained as he pointed to it, then to the building he had been coming from whose stairs had left a perfect path for it to bounce down and gain the momentum to nearly crash into her. "Listen, mi'lady, I did not…"

"It's fine, it's fine," she said, waving her hand. "Accidents happen. Besides, you warned me in time," she glanced around, forcing a smile to try and reassure them when she noticed that one of the sons had a hammer shaped amulet over his tunic...

"Lief, what happened?" a woman's voice called, and Joy almost froze as she turned. That accent, that wasn't a northwoman who learned Latin. That was someone who spoke the language natively.

"My hand slipped, it's fine Amie!" the father called back, but Joy had seen the woman - clearly a native of Ashfeld, a young baby in her arms and a daughter bringing out another small box to pile into the wagon…

"You're leaving for Valkenheim?" she asked.

"Aye, mi'lady, us and my parents," he explained as he nodded inside. "Your legion won, and now I just have to hope that the Seacrows will take in refugees…"

"Us and half of Ashfeld," one of the sons growled before the other one jabbed him in the shoulder.

Joy turned to the woman. "And you're abandoning your home to go to Valkenheim, miss?"

"Lief's my husband," she answered, "I'm not leaving him and our children, even if I have to get used to the cold…"

"But, you don't _have_ to flee, you can live in Ashfeld still, all you have to do is bend the knee, accept that this isn't…" she started as she was trying to process what was going on.

"My in-laws are stubborn," Amie admitted with a shrug. "As long as we can survive the brigands, we'll be fine. The Vikings look after their kin, even if their kin have Ashfelder blood in them."

"Brigands?" Joy asked, almost afraid as she looked at the wagon and down the street. A few other refugees were packing wagons as well, but this street was mostly empty. Then again, it did not seem to be particular inhabited either…

"Aye, Ashfeld's been crawling with them, and with this campaign it'll only get worse," Lief explained. "One of my duties before the siege was to warn of their approach, not that our lands had them. Jarl Ludvig was good at hunting them down…"

Joy glanced to the barrel still lying in the street, then to the wagon. "Do you need any help?" she asked.

"Oh I'm sure you have better things to be doing, mi'lady!" Lief answered hastily, "I appreciate the thought, but I wouldn't…"

"I can at least help with the barrel," she offered as she nodded to it, unsure of exactly what she was doing.

"It'd be an honor, Warden," Amie finally said, cutting her husband off.

The barrel had survived mostly intact, so it was just a matter of getting it onto the wagon itself, and as Joy and one of the two sons finished with that, he and the other son went back inside to grab the last few pieces of their grandfather's furniture, leaving Joy mostly alone with the woman.

"I have to ask, because if he has used force…"

Amie laughed. "I knew Wardens were noble, but you don't have to be here. He wasn't part of the original invasion, he came after. And Lief's really quite sweet, a romantic… he's a good man, mi'lady, even if he comes from the north."

Something was wrong, but it wasn't the woman's marriage, she realized…

" _How long is the trail of refugees?"_

Shaking her head, she answered. "I'll trust your judgment, but once you go north you may never see Ashfeld again."

"I know, but we don't always stay where we grew up…" she was trying to smile, but there was a faint twitch that told the Warden what she needed to know. It was still leaving her homeland, quite likely her own parents if they hadn't been killed during the siege or when the Vikings came.

"Stay safe then, Amie," Joy answered as she glanced towards the keep. "I need to go deal with something."

"Of course, Warden," Amie dipped her head.

As Joy walked away, she still was not fully sure what to make of what had just happened, but she now knew where the answers lay, and there were more people who were preparing to leave than just that one family. She wasn't expected for any other duties that day, and if Cross needed her he could send for her. For now, she had to find the questions to answer amongst the conquered.

XXXXX

A commander had many duties, overseeing reports on logistics was one of them. Reports from Seneca on the quality and quantity of their stores of scrap, munitions, and the state of the reserve armory they had from salvage and what they brought with them. Yarwick keeping him abreast of the disassembly of their siege engines and salvaging as much as possible for future use - mostly just winches and gears. Sister Noelle reporting on who was under medics, who had been discharged to return to service, and who had perished by disease or injury.

And then there was the letter that had arrived for him, which he had reread after Geoffrey brought it to him while he was listening to contingent reports.

_Asmodai,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health from your success, as now we must capitalize on it. Those who escaped Harrowgate and the survivors of our northern campaign alike are massing in Tholen, gathering into one army under the Bloodtalon Clan for a final stand._

_We will need our full might, and in particular the talents of you and your new Warden, for this battle. Abandon the siege of Savona or whatever campaign of pacification you have undertaken to secure our rule in southern Ashfeld. Let any auxiliaries you have recruited deal with containing them._

_We will regroup by securing Hell's Ravine - take a vanguard to eliminate the former Iron Legion outposts there so that your army can come north unmolested, and we will drive the Warborn from our homeland entirely._

_With regards,_

_Apollyon_

Holden exhaled as he reread the letter - written in Apollyon's typically simple yet legible handwriting. That sergeant had saved them an even greater trouble than hoped, allowing them to move north with the last of their main objectives in southern Ashfeld complete. The momentum would be maintained, and if they destroyed the Bloodtalons that would be the last major Viking holdout in Ashfeld.

Yet he worried: much of southern Ashfeld was still outside Blackstone control and he had little idea of what was to the north other than the various holdfasts and keeps. All of which was of presently unknown control with the Nordic exodus from Ashfeld. He had hoped to be able to spend a month or two moving around the land, doing much as they had to prepare to move on Savona itself, but now he knew such was not an option. He just hoped that they would not regret it later.

There was a knock at the door and Holden looked up. "Come in," he said, straightening up behind the desk he had commandeered from the dead Warborn Jarl - the chair was quite comfortable, particularly now that he had at least a day without his full armor. He attributed it to the deerskin it was covered with.

But as the door opened, his mind was drawn back to the day's spectacle in the keep's arena as Joy stepped in, a frown on her face as she dipped her head.

"My lord."

"Warden," he answered as he leaned on the desk. "I understand you've been talking to the refugees today."

She glanced back at the closed door, then nodded. "I was."

"And the Warlord you captured - yes, the legionnaires told me when their shift ended."

As the Warden shifted, glancing away to avoid meeting his eyes, Cross knew he had disturbed her. _She still doesn't know whether we share her ideals,_ he decided as he gestured towards one of the chairs opposite of him with his hand. "Have a seat, we have things to discuss."

She took the chair to the right, and as she sat he pushed the letter towards her. "We will not be remaining in Savona for long," he continued as she read it. "We head north."

The Warden's eyes widened - likely as she reached the part where Apollyon mentioned her - then put it down. "I'll be ready, my lord. When do we leave?"

"The bulk of the army will leave when it is resupplied, but I will be taking two contingents to leave early tomorrow as an advance guard to secure passage across Hell's Ravine. Commander Stone's Iron Legionnaires will be one contingent, the other will be Sir Leon."

Joy paused. "And his wounded soldier?"

"He will remain with the main host, along with the other legionnaires under medics." Cross looked towards the window, which was allowing in the last of the day's light still, before looking back at her. "Do you have anything to add about your duel with him?"

She shook her head. "No, but I need to ask about the prisoners we took. If we intend to move swiftly, we can't afford to be bogged down with them."

"At this time I'm content to leave them here and see which of them can afford a ransom," he explained as he noticed Joy shift in her seat. "Unless you have an alternative?"

She hesitated for a moment, but Joy nodded. "The refugees heading to Valkenheim will be unguarded, and our army's chaplains still need time to prepare to purge and reconsecrate the church the Warborn turned into a shrine to their gods."

Holden quirked an eyebrow, gesturing her on. He could sense an idea.

"We should free the prisoners, on the condition that they swear to God and to theirs on ground that's been consecrated by both to accompany the refugees, to safeguard them to Valkenheim, and should they join our enemies then no quarter shall be given."

"Normally, I'd ask why you care about a bunch of Warborn," he growled as he leaned back, resting his fingers together like a tent, "But I know better than to question a Warden's commitment to the meek."

"You approve?" she asked, straightening and almost starting to smile.

"No," he answered and she seemed to deflate a bit before he continued, "but I see what you intend. Perhaps it will yield some good will and the favor can one day be returned, but I would not trust them even with such oaths."

"We won't know if we never try," Joy retorted, eying him directly. "The refugees all fear the thugs that are in Ashfeld, Sir Stone was once part of one such gang, and this war has displaced most who hunt them down. Even in the south, a war always bred brigands that took time to hunt down. Today, how many mobs roam Blackstone lands?"

"Too many," he conceded with a growl as a long standing issue nagged at him again. "We keep most of our effort towards the Warborn - they always send at least one raiding party our way."

"Exactly. And the legion is going to be stretched thin. Harrowgate alone is going to need a few years to recover, and that assumes they have years of peace. If the Warborn are able to simply turn their eyes south with vengeance in mind, we'll face at least one invasion seeking to break us. But if they are busy trying to settle those we displaced, and some of them made it by mercy we showed… wouldn't we have the time to deal with the brigands and fulfill both our orders' vows?"

Despite himself, Holden felt a slight smile cross his lips. She understood what Apollyon had refused to deal with to leave behind so-called fertile ground for the legion.

"If I can only release those I captured, so be it. But someone has to take the first step towards peace, otherwise no matter how many foreign hordes we beat, the enemies within will be free to prey on those in our charge."

"You don't need to convince me further," he finally said, holding a hand up. "You're free to release those you took prisoner, and return a single weapon to each one of them. But you need to think carefully on who you release."

"Why?" Joy asked, tilting her head. "Arbitrarily picking who is released and who is left to be a mob's victim won't win us a peace."

"No, it won't," he conceded, "but it will send a message to the Legion of what kind of knight you are. Many of them have lost family to the Warborn, either murdered or taken as slaves of all sorts. And they have had to see countless friends killed in battle, or worse die on the march to face them."

He rose slowly, stepping towards the open air window as she stood up to follow, the shutters turn inwards for the fresh summer air.

"It's not easy to win the respect of your warriors," he continued as he reached the window. "Even harder when you joined us because you killed so many. You proved to them that you could lead them into battle with dauntless courage, but as Richard showed there are still those who question if you belong in the Blackstone Legion."

Joy looked up at him. "Do you believe I still belong, Commander, or do you think this is no legion for a Warden?"

Looking down at her, Holden could see it. She was staring at him, not with accusation but knowing that her being here was in great part his fault. He knew it: he had invited her in part to save face after Daubeny's cowardice, and she had done the honorable thing to serve as a knight was meant to. If he doubted a Warden's ability to serve in the Blackstone Legion, he should not have made the offer.

_So, is this a legion for a Warden?_ A part of him asked, and Holden pursed his lips before he inhaled.

"I can't answer that, Joyeuse," he finally answered. "Some would argue we aren't, that there is no honor in war and that Wardens are unable to truly wage it because they hold to that."

"And you?"

"Caught that, didn't you?" he smiled: that was the perception she would need. "I say that a better question is what are you willing to endure to remain a Warden. What trials would you face in your service to be both a Warden and a Blackstone?"

He placed his left hand on her shoulder. She recoiled slightly, but more due to the force of his hand pressing down than anything else. He pointed out the window, to where a group of legionnaires looked to be making their way to whatever open taverns remained. "Those warriors, Dame? They will be at your side as long as you are a Blackstone Legionnaire, and as long as they will follow you. You've proven several times now that you are a great warrior, a great knight, but a leader they will follow?"

"That they still need to figure out," she finished as she faintly nodded. "And to figure that out, they look to how I carry myself."

"And what you do, how you treat them and their enemies. Many of them have lost friends and family to the Warborn. We've both seen the Warborn hang their prisoners." Holden's mind wandered dangerously away before he was able to lock it down and focus. "But at the same time, they know that Wardens are meant to be above petty revenge… and still dedicated to justice."

She frowned, looking out at the now even more empty city and exhaled. "I still can't sit easy knowing that a lot of innocent farmers and townsfolk are going to be going out there without protection."

"I won't stop you from releasing the prisoners you took," he explained. "But you must decide on how you will respond to the criticism. I saw how you stormed out after defeating that legionnaire: if you choose to issue challenges over such insults, I doubt any in the legion will be able to stop you."

"... but I'll just make myself hated," she finished as she inhaled, looking down. "I'll be just like those highborn who live up to every serf's horror story to keep their kids in line."

"Perhaps, or perhaps they will simply see you a Warden in name only." He shrugged. "As I said, this is something only you can answer. If you must go on to act in ways you know will be seen as weak, I only have one piece of advice."

"What is it?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Take your mercy, your oaths, and your decisions, and own them as your armor. Otherwise they will only be used as weapons against you by those with grudges."

She nodded slowly, glancing to the door quickly. "Thank you, my lord. I will consider what you have said, but I know what I need to do."

Holden knew what that meant, but if she could show the conviction to stand by it?

"Then don't let me stop you from doing so," he answered, gesturing towards the door with his hand. "If anyone challenges your order to release those you took prisoner, tell them that while I disagree I will not object."

Bowing her head, Joyeuse made her way to the door and Holden returned to the desk to begin more detailed planning.

"My lord," the Warden added as she held the door open, "you know that some will question you for allowing this."

"Maybe," he admitted as he sat down. "But it is my decision."

She nodded once, slowly, then closed the door behind her. Alone with his thoughts, Holden Cross could feel that part of him wanted to question the wisdom of not putting his foot down.

_She needs to learn the hard way,_ he knew. Pride, especially the ego backing her prowess, was not so easily broken. It could be reined in, but it was never tamed until it had been shattered the painful way. Why else did song and saga speak of so many young princes who had to undergo humiliation to become worthy of their inheritances? How many princesses had to realize that their place was not always one of glory? They were young, with all of youth's stubbornness and none of the wisdom that age brought to check it.

But that brought him to philosophical questions of whether it is better to learn by experience, to learn by a mentor's teachings, and other abstract debates that he was never particularly fond of. And he had a job to do to boot: an army needed considerable guidance from his commander, especially when he had to balance the fickle loyalty of the auxiliaries with needing to move as many men north as possible.

Reaching for the ledger on his desk, he opened it to the latest reports on the army's strength and began the long and sadly often overlooked duties of military campaigning.

XXXXX

"Warlord, she's back."

Sven stirred as Hildebrand warned him of the returning visitor and pushed himself up as he saw the Warden return to the dungeon, though this time she was bearing no mugs of water, nor did the guard that accompanied her move to unlock the cells.

"I take it you thought about what I said, Dame Maylis?" Sven asked as he looked at her. "Or are you here to decide our fates?"

"Only those captured in the woods," she explained. "And the choice is yours to make, Warlord Borson."

That got their attention, though the survivors from the city itself falling (and they made up the majority) grumbled.

"Let's hear it then," Sven grumbled as he leaned against the bars.

"You are, for the most part, warriors of the Fairhair Clan, and your clan's survivors return to their ancestral homeland," the Warden began as she looked between them. "But we both know the road is dangerous, and that brigands have infested too much of Ashfeld. What I am offering you is a chance to take the same offer made to the others, and to protect the people you fought so hard to defend."

That stirred the prisoners, but Sven frowned. What was she playing at? It seemed foolish, to just let them go equipped for war?

"You will only be able to reclaim one weapon," she continued, "and those who leave will swear before your gods and God to uphold those terms in the shrine you converted from one of His churches. You will accompany those refugees to Valkenheim, sit out the remainder of the campaigning season and bear no arms against the Blackstone Legion until the start of the next year. If any of you take this oath and fail to do so, there will be no quarter and no mercy offered."

Sven narrowed his eyes. "And how do I know this is not just an excuse to get us out of the way?"

"Warlord," she sighed, "if we wanted to kill you it is well within our right to do so here and now, while you are all helpless. Most of you were taken captive in battle, rather than having surrendered. But if you would rather rot here and wait for the patricians of Savona to demand your heads in revenge rather than take this chance to protect your kin, I cannot make you."

They grumbled, and Hildebrand spoke up. "What of those who were in the city when it fell?"

Joy sighed. "I'm sorry, but Lord Cross only gave me leave to release those that were taken in the woods."

"I'll keep her safe," Sven said before he could stop himself - what was he doing, taking up this knight's offer despite his better judgment telling him it was some trick?

"Y… you would?" Hildebrand started. "Sven, I…"

He paused, looking at the Warden who tilted her head ever so slightly at him. He was about to look away, but then she pressed it. "Warlords are protectors of their people, are they not?"

"Yes, they are," he admitted after a moment's hesitance. He knew what it meant when he took those oaths ancient as stone. They were no knightly order, but to be honored as a Warlord meant service to their people. _Perhaps we are not so different from what knights profess to be,_ he considered as he looked to the others.

"I won't ask you to follow me," he added as a few warriors were glaring at him, "but you are all here because I failed before. You fought for your families, now it is my turn to do so. And if any others would share this burden, we can make sure that they have the chance to rebuild their lives."

Some of the glares remained, but a few others softened and soon, there were more volunteers. It was hardly the path that Sven had expected his imprisonment to take, but perhaps his fate was in Valkenheim. To help his clan prepare when the onslaught did not end in Ashfeld, and find a home for the displaced.

And looking at the Warden, he had to wonder - was this from their conversation, or had something else happened to prompt it? Not that it mattered: it was quite likely he would never see her once he left for Valkenheim, even if both survived.

But if they did…

As the Warden prepared to leave to prepare the ground to have the oaths sworn that night, Sven spoke up. "Warden," he warned, causing her to stop and turn, "no matter this oath, we have a matter unresolved between us, a matter I will not forget."

"I expected as much," she answered, betraying no shock nor eager anticipation of a future challenge. "But this is not about our past battles - this is about your people."

With that she left, leaving him to wonder what would possess someone to show such mercy when she knew that once honor allowed, that very same honor would demand vengeance.

XXXXX

"I can't say I'm fond of the idea."

Joy looked to the left as she stood on the wall above Savona's primary gatehouse early the next morning, watching the line of refugees begin to make way. Among them was each of the warriors she had captured just two days previously, guiding the families of the displaced in their long exodus to Valkenheim.

"If you want to say I'm being foolish, Sir Stone, go ahead," she admitted as she looked to Harrowgate's former commander. "I know some of them were at Harrowgate."

"That's one of the nicer ways to put it," Stone shook his head as the two were facing towards where they had been encamped the previous month. "Some of my legionnaires are wondering why you even cared about the colonists, and this morning I overheard some of Davis' knights asking if Wardens really are the warriors they're supposed to be."

Sighing, she closed her eyes. Of course, questions already. Word of it was hard to keep secret given they had to lead Sven and his other warriors through the streets, nor would it have been possible to keep it secret as the refugees had prepared to leave. She knew some were going to look down on her for showing mercy. And as she had tried to find sleep, she kept wondering.

"Maybe they're right," Joy conceded before pointing towards one of the wagons in the trail of refugees, burdened with the items of several families, "but I couldn't let those people go unprotected."

"The refugees?"

She nodded.

After tilting his head side to side a few times as he considered it, Stone shrugged. "Ah, I'm just going to write this off as a Warden thing. You've got your oaths, guess this was the only way to uphold them."

Joy frowned. "That… that had hardly entered my mind, actually. I actually spent some time talking to the refugees, and ran into a few who were from Ashfeld. They married some of the colonists, they even had families."

"Oh, that's been happening for some time. The priests love it as a topic for their sermons, warning the sanctuary's daughters against lust for the savage, over groomed heathen and to remember that a big man wasn't always, well, a big man."

She immediately found herself wanting to laugh as her mind tried to imagine that, but trying to stop herself it turned into a sort of half snort as she caught herself and shook her head. "Well, moving on…"

Clearing her throat, she stood to her full height, and her voice lower on its own. "The fact that they acted like decent people, many of them not even being part of the raids but came when the Fairhair Clan migrated south, leaving their old village behind? I just saw more people who needed help. People who needed help but I couldn't offer any."

"So you released those you thought might be able to?" Harrowgate's former commander tilted his head as he met her gaze.

"Exactly. Warlords are sworn in service to their people, and we didn't need prisoners. Maybe it will help with ending this war, to allow for a lasting peace."

"It might, but I'm not holding my breath."

"I'm not asking you to, but it was something I needed to do."

The Conqueror shrugged. "We'll see. I just hope that you don't learn that it wasn't worth it when they become another band of brigands, or decide to ignore the oaths."

That was a fear that Joy had wrestled with during the night, but in the end it was a risk she was willing to take. The question was, who would actually suffer if the risk did not pay off? That had been a constant presence when she had to understand the reason for ransom and the dictates around it - she had to defend against that argument. But that was for fellow knights - it said nothing about the Warborn.

"If it gets one more refugee to a new home, it'll be worth whatever scorn the others hurl my way," she finally decided. "Even if we never find out if they made it or not."

"Probably won't," Stone offered, giving her a quick nudge. She turned as he gestured back towards the keep. "Anyways, we should get back. We've got a long march ahead, and who knows what we'll run into on the way?"

Taking a deep breath, Joyeuse took one last look at the trail of refugees leaving the city for Valkenheim and wondered: had she answered the questions she had about Ashfeld's affairs, or had she just opened up more questions to ask, most of them she would need to ask herself? In the end, she put the thought aside. As long as she could count on men like Stone to be with her, she was confident she could survive.

"Let's go," she agreed and the two made their way back.


	8. The Deserters

"What happened here?"

Joyeuse asked that as they crested a hill on the second day of their march from Savona, giving them a complete view of the ruins of what had once been a town. It was a question that only lingered as it had been left a ruin, rather than resettled by the Warborn. With its curtain wall in shambles and the wooden buildings within in assorted states of disrepair, it was clear that none had called it home.

"Meissen," Stone winced as he looked towards the ruins. "It used to be a vibrant town, at least until it was sacked by the Warborn, then abandoned. It just wasn't worth it once trade dried up."

"It was left long before, Sir Stone," Leon added as the knight turned to look at him. "The Iron Legion gave it up in the face of an onslaught."

_Here too?_ Joy thought as she stared: another town that the Iron Legion had abandoned to their northern foes.

"Be careful," Cross growled to the leading knights in his vanguard, "ruins may look empty, but there's always something hidden inside."

"Do you want me to check them out?" Joy asked as she turned.

Cross considered for a second, then shook his head and pointed to the dirt patch road, which ran along the town's outside and simply had a few paths in. "We'll pass the ruins and find a suitable place to stop for lunch in the next hour. We don't have time to poke around."

"As you say, my lord," she bowed her head.

As they passed around the ruins however, Joy felt herself chilled even with the late summer sun blazing down on them. This had once been home to how many families - two hundred, two-fifty? And now all that stood was a ruin, one left by the Warborn. It almost felt like seeing it was to make her question the mercy she had shown in the last few days.

Movement in the rubble startled her from any thoughts as they passed by, and those watching their perimeter had hands to bow and blade alike when they heard a shout.

" _Hail, hail to the Blackstone Legion!"_

The call echoed out as a man in full plate armor stepped out from the ruins, raising his poleaxe in the air to get their attention. And with the sun gleaming off of his brassed shoulder guards, Joy frowned as she knew that he seemed familiar…

"Alberic?!" Stone gasped as he stopped and turned. "Sir Alberic!"

Now Joy remembered, turning to Cross. "I can stand in for Stone while he speaks with his knight, Commander."

"That won't be necessary," Cross answered. "We'll move on. Warden, accompany Stone and then catch up to us. If he is not needed elsewhere, we could use his aid."

"My lord," she dipped her head.

"We won't be long, mi'lord," Stone added as he did likewise, and the two split off from the army to meet up with the former Iron Legion Lawbringer.

They met with Alberic part way between the road and the ruins, the Lawbringer resting his poleaxe on his shoulders as they stood across from each other. Joy left Dusk in its sheath, and Stone checked the holster for his flail before resting his free hand on his hip. And of course they all had their travel packs, though the Lawbringer's was bigger than both of theirs.

"Commander, Warden," the Lawbringer nodded as he gestured towards the shadow cast by the remains of the curtain wall. "I have news."

"On Will?" Stone asked, straightening. "What happened?"

"This will take some time to explain. I have not encountered Sir William's deserters, but I have tracked down others of their number."

"You've caught some lone deserters?" Joy asked as her mind involuntarily walked back to the times she had helped hunt such down, back when she was just a squire.

"Aye, and found a larger group, from the third company."

"Third…" Stone started as she saw his jaw drop just past the lower rim of his helmet, "Alberic, we haven't used companies in years! Kline disbanded them because we couldn't afford to keep more than one field army together!"

"I remember, I was part of the second company." The Lawbringer gestured to a spot on the black and orange standards hanging from below his armor's faulds, which to Joy looked plain but she guessed had been weaved with a sigil before they changed tabards.

"Right, so, the deserters?"

"Two lone deserters I had found proved to have no timely information, and were judged appropriately for their deeds. However, I was guided towards a haunt by the second."

"Did both die?" Joy asked as she raised her visor. "Or was the second spared?"

"He had refused to turn brigand and had settled quietly. For that and the admittedly cold information, I merely confiscated the Legion issued brigandine and shield of his."

She nodded - that explained why his pack seemed much larger. "So, what did you find here?"

"Nothing, technically. He knew this haunt would be abandoned, but I found the deserters in the woods east of here. The only one I was able to interrogate was a legionnaire named Aurelia, formerly posted at Hamhand."

Stone winced. "That outpost was destroyed by the army that attacked Harrowgate…"

"Aye, she routed from it, then encountered the deserters she was with. The craven joined the deserters rather than return to her duties at Harrowgate. Unfortunately, these deserters were not forthcoming to her about what they were up to, only that their intent was supposedly to survive and return home one day."

"Are you sure they're a threat?" Joy asked, frowning as they finally reached the shade of Meissen's' broken curtain wall. "It sounds to me like they saw war's horrors and lacked the courage to face it."

"I would agree, except when they saw me they attacked, screaming about the Blackstone Legion."

Stone tilted his head as Alberic planted his poleaxe into the ground and allowed it to rest on his shoulder. "Blackstone, not Lawbringer?"

"They feared my approach, but their attack only came when they realized I had Blackstone standards."

"What else did she tell you?" Joy asked, folding her arms as she was trying to piece together what had been learned. Deserters were a regular occurrence for assorted reasons, but it was usually just one or two. A whole outpost garrison consisting of a Conqueror and a dozen battle hardened sergeants? Several small parties of them? It felt like there was more at play than a few men simply being too cowardly to hold up in war.

"A few names. Besides Sir William's group which she claimed was going north, she also mentioned two other parties. One is a small retinue led by the sibling knights Katherine and Henry, all formerly of Harrowgate's Third Company. The other group is Sir Jasper, a Conqueror leading a half dozen sergeants."

"But nothing on where they are?"

"On the contrary, they were on their way to a safehouse in the Brightwood Chapel, along Hell's Ravine. It's host to a small bridge, and it used to have a ranger's waystation there."

"Which makes it perfect for small gangs," Stone growled as he glanced north. "But it's not an outpost we're going to hit."

"But it's not far from our rendezvous with Apollyon," Joy warned as she felt her hand clenching into a fist. "We might have to deal with it regardless."

"In that case, I'll travel with you," Alberic offered. "Strength in numbers, and I have no other leads."

"Lord Cross was hoping you'd say that" Stone added, "but it'd be good to have you with us either way."

"Aye... " Alberic paused for a moment, glancing southeast, then back to Stone. "Oh, by the way, Ashley made it. She's getting a new helmet of course, though I think she'll be keeping the faceplate on regardless."

It took Joy a few moments to realize who they were talking about, but Stone exhaled in relief. "Good, one less death from Harrowgate."

"One more saved by the Sword of Harrowgate," the Lawbringer turned and looked at Joy directly.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, frowning. "'The Sword of Harrowgate'?"

"That's what some bard's calling you anyways," he explained with a shrug. "The original verse using it was not particularly good, but other minstrels picked up the title as they tried to improve on his tune."

"Congratulations, Warden," Stone chuckled as he nudged her arm with his shield. "You're famous."

She grinned. "Let's wait until people start calling me that on sight."

Despite that, she had to admit 'The Sword of Harrogate' was an epithet that she liked. Now she just had to hope that it stuck enough for people to recognize her by it without having met her.

XXXXX

The rest of the march was uneventful, save for the occasional village they passed through on the road. The Vikings had already withdrawn by the time they got there, with word spreading swiftly of the Blackstone campaign. Even though her fellows were happy with it, Joy still could not help but wonder. Were the Warborn settlers leaving because they realized the knights were reclaiming their lands, or out of fear of excessive retribution for the wrongs done by the hordes of marauders?

Soon enough, they reached Hell's Ravine and their main target: Ghorst's Hold, a keep that commanded a drawbridge across the ravine over the lava. With the drawbridge and its second gate wide enough for two wagons to pass through, it was exactly what an army needed to get across an otherwise impassable obstacle. In peace, it was built to allow trade… and to collect hefty tolls for merchants to pass through.

_Not unlike home,_ she thought briefly. But unlike her home, its allies had abandoned it. The Iron Legion left it to be starved despite its strategic value and being begged to save them.

But as she observed the fort from behind a boulder, alongside Stone, something felt off as one warrior was patrolling along the walls, looking out for a few moments before returning to his patrol.

"Shouldn't be too hard," Stone remarked as he was hidden next to her. "When the Vikings took it, there were more men-at-arms on the walls."

"But no Iron Legionnaires," Joy answered as she felt her hand clenching into a fist and hit the boulder. "Everywhere we go, we've abandoned our people." She turned. "What has happened to the Iron Legion?"

Stone said nothing as he glanced down. Joy sighed, putting the question aside. Her doubts and questions could wait. She had work to do, and this fort had to be taken. With so few guards, they could use the ladders being built to simply rush the fort. Tightening her grip on Dusk's hilt, she made her way back to inform Lord Cross of the weak defenses…

… and an hour later, after a swift attack that had caught the Warborn off guard, Joy allowed the last of the defenders trying to kill her slide off of Dusk's blade. He landed on the wood floor, choking on his own blood, and as Joy glanced around at how few fresh Warborn corpses there were in the keep's throne room. That too few had tried to contest the ladders being docked on the walls or tried to stop their advance. She was not the only one who noticed.

"There should have been more," Cross growled as he looked around the sturdy wood flooring in what on the outside was a stone keep, now covered in a dozen bodies of Warborn… most of them old men.

"And younger," Stone agreed as blood dripped from his flail, a now-headless Viking slumped over against the wall next to him. "Cack, this was just a bunch of old men looking for Valhalla. No wonder they didn't see us, they're probably half blind!"

"The rest of the garrison must have fled on to Tholen," Joy suggested as she looked around and noticed some of the wall decorations had weapons pulled from them. "Maybe the men here thought they would be too slow for the march, so they decided to try and hold us off here?"

"Speculation gets us nowhere," Cross answered as he turned to where most of the knights stood. "If there's any survivors, hold them captive. No executions until I give the word. Warden, Stone, you two check the bedchambers for stragglers. The rest of you spread out on the ground floor and check every room!"

A chorus of affirmatives rang out and they dispersed throughout the squat structure, with the Warden and Conqueror making their way up the stairs at the back of the throne room.

Joy kept her sword pointed ready to intercept any desperate attackers leaping from behind the next round of stairs, but as none came she found herself wondering what had gone through the minds of the men who now lay dead and dying. Sure, it meant the Blackstones had taken the fort quickly and without serious casualties, but where were the _real_ Warborn warriors that had taken the fort in the first place?

"Too quiet," Stone remarked as they reached the top of the stairs, a hallway with several individual bedrooms on each side. "You'd think we'd hear some mother hushing her child up here, or something like that."

"If there were any, they probably left," she answered as she caught on to the silence. "I'll take the left side, you get the right. Shout if you see anything."

"Works for me."

The two made their way through, but found little. Some hastily discarded items as whoever had inhabited the rooms before. A discarded wood carving of a duck with the knife still embedded in the wood, a spilled horn of mead that hadn't been placed on its stand properly, a half-finished letter to a son residing in Odingard…

That made Joy pause as she picked it up, her mind briefly wandering to the letter she had sent home and the need to write another, but was shaken from those thoughts as she read it. It was relatively easy to read - it turned out to have been written in Latin rather than in futhark runes - but it was the content that shook her.

_Einar,_

_I write knowing my days are numbered, but do not weep. When you read this from your workshop in Odingard, I will be amongst the host of the slain, feasting in Odin's hall. The only regret I have is that I cannot tell you these words in person, so please, indulge your old man and read them well. Find love at least once, before your time comes. Dangerous a game it is, life is pointless without it. Always beware those who would desert for plunder, as by their action my fate will be without muc_

The letter ended abruptly there, but the ink was only mostly dry. He had been writing this when the attack happened. A man now lying in a puddle of his own blood - or someone else's - had a letter to family to write. And the fact that she could be in that very same situation one day?

Shaking her head, Joy put the thought aside and called out as she realized what the abrupt ending was talking about. "Stone, I think I might have something!"

It took a few moments for him to reach the room, but he stopped at the door to look in. "What is it, Joy?"

"A letter," she explained as she held it up. "It mentions something about desertion for plunder causing something before it cut off. Maybe that's where they went?"

"Wouldn't surprise me if some went off to loot, but the whole garrison?" Stone shook his head. "That doesn't feel right."

"I know," she admitted as she let her shoulders sag, "but it's a start. That, and this seems to be the Year of the Missing Garrisons."

"Heh, true." Stone admitted. He then glanced to the side and jerked his thumb towards the last room. "Well, only one room left, the lord's bedchamber. May as well check it out together, right?"

Joy tilted her head as a part of her was on guard, though it was a reflex that easily faded as she felt herself smirking. All it needed was the most imperious tone she could muster.

"The two of us in such a place, _alone_?" she demanded. "Good sir…"

Letting it trail off there, Stone's mind did the rest as his jaw dropped, just barely visible at the bottom of his helmet's faceplate. The room fell awkwardly silent as he raised a hand, pointer finger held up as if he was about to say something, then he seemed to think better and took a step back, looking towards his feet.

"Right, well…" he finally started. "Uh, I was expecting armor to stay on, you know, when I said…"

Unable to hold it in, Joy chuckled as flipped her visor up so he could see that she was smiling. "It's fine, Stone. We're all knights here, and I couldn't pass up the jest."

"Good to know your humor survived," he answered with a weak laugh as he glanced back towards the stairs. "Though uh, while we _are_ alone, if that was more than a jest…" the Conqueror shrugged, mail rustling as it fell back down. "Well, after the campaign, maybe?"

She felt her stomach lightening as she took a step back, smile fading as the fact he was serious hit her. The flirt - if she could call it that - was to be a simple tease of the lessons she had repeated ad nauseam growing up, but if he was actually willing to consider it later?

_Check your heart,_ the same part of her that was on guard chided, the lesson her mother had ensured she had learned. _You are a highborn lady, with all the duties that entails._ Still, she did enjoy his company… was there any harm in seeing if it was friendship or something more?

"I hope you know poetry then," Joy answered as she managed to shove her internal debate aside, "and the etiquette of courtly romance."

"I'm a fast learner," he shrugged. "And I know you'll break my guard long before I break yours."

They looked at each other for a long moment as Joy flipped her visor back down as she resisted the urge to put her palm on her face.

"Yeah, someone somewhere probably winced when I said that…" the Conqueror trailed off before inhaling. "Right. Last room to search. Totally innocently. Says the guy with a skull on his helmet…"

It turned out that there was nothing of note in the last room, and looked like it had been abandoned properly with little but the furniture remaining. Joy pieced together pretty quickly what that meant - whoever the Vikings had ruling them had left intentionally.

Which meant that with only the letter, they made their way back down. Some Blackstones were clearing the corpses, carrying them away leaving only blood stains and viscera that had spilled on the floor - and the tables around the side. Joy felt her nostrils flaring as the smell reached her, but even then she had grown accustomed to it. When men were disemboweled, guts and waste were spilled. Something she still sometimes pondered far too long.

"Anything upstairs, boss?" a legionnaire asked as he had a water bucket and a few rags in hand.

"Nah, nothing up there Marcus," Stone answered to one of the legionnaires from Harrowgate. "You got cleanup?"

"One of the last in, so… yeah." He shrugged. "Fair's fair, I guess."

Joy glanced at him, then to the mess. "I hope you're not alone."

"Nah, got a few other lads getting buckets now. Don't worry, Warden, you did the hard part."

She nodded, "Speaking of that, do you know where Lord Cross is?"

"Outside; he and Sir Alberic were interrogating a survivor."

Thanking him, they moved at pace and were soon outside the keep. Whatever trade had once flowed through, the fort was now a shuffling disquiet as men secured it. Finding the two Lawbringers turned out to be easier than expected, as their captive was lying on the northern wall by the drawbridge gatehouse, slumped over and freshly killed.

"Ah, good. Did you two find anything?"

"A half-finished letter," Joy answered as she held it over. Cross took it and read it, nodding along.

"Did he tell the truth?" Alberic asked, resting his poleaxe against the wall next to Cross' newly blooded one.

"It appears so," the senior Lawbringer answered as he passed the letter back to her. "Apparently, the Viking commander took most of the garrison to the northeast, up along the ravine to find another place to hole up. Poor fools, we are to secure those as well."

"When do we head out?" Stone asked.

"You'll remain here, Sir Stone," Cross explained as he gestured towards the keep. "We can't afford to have this fall back into Nordic hands before the rest of the army arrives. I'm trusting you to hold this."

Stone shifted. "We'll do it, but you know my men are eager."

"That they are," he agreed as he rested a hand on Stone's shoulder. "I need that ferocity defending this crossing."

"Right," the Conqueror shrugged. "Any word on Lord Guy?"

"None, but he should be along within two or three days." Cross turned, looking towards the drawbridge. "Check that drawbridge for sabotage. The Warborn probably didn't leave any surprises for us, but we must be certain before our troops cross."

"Yeah, I don't fancy falling into lava…" Stone exhaled. "Not that we'll escape the brimstone."

XXXXX

It turns out that the Warborn hadn't left any surprises, and the drawbridge was in rather good shape all things considered. To be safe, though, Stone was left with orders to see about reinforcing it.

The bodies had been hauled out of the keep and the blood washed away, with the remains of the Vikings being buried outside the fort after being looted of any wargear. With that, as noon approached the Blackstones settled in. Sir Leon's contingent would rest before moving on the other forts, Stone's men prepared to garrison.

As one of the knights in the contingent, Joyeuse ate in the keep's main hall with her fellows, though that day lunch was cold - rations of dried meat, bread, and cheese that had been prepared for ease of eating while on the road. And water, taken stored from the cellar where the keep had an entire room of barrels of the stuff ferried from nearby (and mostly abandoned) farmsteads or villages to account for the fort's lack of a natural well.

"Damn shame too," Sir Leon remarked after explaining to Joy why there had been no well in the keep as they sat on one side of the hall. "If it wasn't for that, and the heat, this would be a nice little fort to retire in. Nice income just by the road being clear."

"Sitting on a trade route means more than just holding the stop itself," she answered as she leaned forward, tearing off another piece of bread. "You need to make sure the whole route is safe, judge your tithes against the winds of fortune, and make sure people _want_ to come by and pay your tolls rather than find another road."

"Maybe," he answered as she chewed on it, "but don't spend like a burgher and you'll be fine with a bad trade season. After all, they still have to pay your tolls."

"If you don't mind remaining some local lord maybe," she shot back as she shook her head. "I think you're better than that, Sir Leon."

"Hah!" he barked. "I'm a country knight, Dame. If I wasn't in a legion, at best maybe I'd have a couple men-at-arms with me like Sir Edward over there," he gestured towards one of Stone's Iron Legion knights across the hall. "Place like this would be an improvement from the old man's manor."

Joy shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't be here if I was content to sit around."

"Nor would I," he said as he grabbed his waterskin and took a long drink.

She paused, frowning as she realized something. "Now that I think about it, by leading a contingent you should be going by your family name in formal address, rather than your given."

Leon paused a second as he ended his drink and wiped his mouth with his presently ungloved hand. "I know Royals like all that complexity, but it's kept simple in Ashfeld. Besides, we call Lord Guy by his given, rather than..."

"Of Aemilianus, I know," she acknowledged as she held a hand up.

"Yeah, with those names it's always by given, even if otherwise it'd be their family name. Then of course, whatever rolls off the tongue better and personal preference."

"It's complicated," she agreed with a nod. "But it's worth it to be respectful to our stations."

"That, and we actually have the upbringing to prepare us for it. The peasantry don't have the time for anything besides who they kneel to." He took another sip, frowning. "Not that nobility is a shield in Ashfeld. We have to fight for our positions."

Joyeuse frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I am speaking second hand, but our warlord has a low outlook on nobility. Look no further than people like Hervis Daubeny, though he at least would get his hands dirty."

The disgraceful example of a Warden beheading one Blackstone Knight as she came up the stairs rang through her mind. "Unless it's a Lawbringer."

"True," Leon's mouth twitched briefly as he glanced away. "But those idle lords, the ones that only wear fancy silks and only carry a sword for show? There's no place for them in the Blackstone Legion."

"Not even as stewards?" she asked, tilting her head. "I know that being a knight means to be a warrior first, but we have to govern our fiefs. It's the responsibility of owning land, and when we're on campaign someone has to see to it."

"Oh aye, I have my love awaiting my return," Leon smiled as he leaned back. "Damn, I miss her every campaign, but I can't ask her to join me. Even if she wasn't expecting…"

"Congratulations, Sir Leon."

"Thank you, Warden," he inhaled sharply, letting his belly billow out. "But Cherice has good reason to remain back, and she can handle herself. Back to the topic at hand, though…"

"You were about to explain Apollyon had something against 'idle' nobility?" she offered.

"Yeah, as far as she's concerned if we gentle born souls aren't warriors, we shouldn't expect our claims to survive."

"So what, she says we have to be warriors if we want to inherit?"

"Something like that."

Joy exhaled, but she was not sure whether to consider it relief or just another question to add to those she had. War was a tool of statecraft, but to limit inheritance to those who became warriors? It was a dangerous road, one already trod upon by petty kings.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Leon continued with a shrug. "With the Warborn, we have to be warriors to survive."

"True enough," she admitted as she glanced down at her meal. "Anyways, we should probably make sure we're ready for tomorrow."

"Yeah, us against whatever rathole the other Vikings holed up in. Probably a couple ratholes, if they're breaking ranks."

Joy nodded. "Shouldn't be anything a Lawbringer, a Warden, and the finest Knights of Ashfeld can't handle."

Leon chuckled. "I like your confidence."

Finishing her meal, Joy stepped outside to look at the goings on. The Blackstone Legion forces were still eating. Some were giving their noon prayers, others were instead fixing their gear or using salvage to shore up their armor, but the mood was one of confidence. They were an army on the path of victory, and they had not lost a man in the attack on the fort. It was a good day, even if the achievement was unremarkable by its ease.

But as Joy walked through, she noticed the regards and acknowledgments weren't as warm as she had once received in Harrowgate's aftermath. It was still polite, but she could hear a faint chill as it was more just acknowledging her presence before going back to their own matters. There were those who questioned her mercy, even as they said nothing. She had her own questions too.

Soon enough, she found who she was looking for in the main lookout tower at the edge of the keep, looking to the northeast along Hell's Ravine, his skull decorated helmet resting on the post of the wall and his shield at his feet.

"Stone," Joy said as she reached the top.

"Huh?" He turned, jolted as he almost kicked his shield. "Oh, Joy. Sorry, had to get away from the others for a bit."

"Is something wrong?"

"Eh, yeah actually, there is." He shrugged as she stepped up next to him. "I've just been thinking about what Alberic told us."

"The deserters?"

"Good guess. I told you I knew Will - Sir William - since we joined the Iron Legion at the same time. Well, we saved each other's sorry asses more times than I'd like to count, plus he's great at the tavern."

She nodded along.

"Anyways, I'm thinking… Alberic and the others can keep the Hold in check, so I can head north and find those deserters. And well, I wouldn't mind if you came with me. Maybe a Warden can put them at ease."

Joy frowned. "Even if we're back quickly, this is dangerously skirting the line of desertion. For me especially."

"I know. Not the first time I've done it, but I wouldn't do it if I thought it was a wild goose chase. I need to know what happened, and if anyone can talk them down, we could."

Taking a deep breath as she ran it through her mind, part of her warned against it. She was heading in that direction, but she would need to find a way to separate from the others. The opportunity wouldn't be guaranteed, or be long enough for what they needed.

"I take it you don't want Cross to know?"

"Depends," he shrugged. "Do you think Cross would let us go if he knew?"

"Probably not," she decided as thought back to when Stone first told her about the deserters. "But if I can find a way to get leave for most of a day, I'll meet up with you. If not, I'll stay silent on the matter until we return. If I am able to get away though, do you have a meeting place in mind?"

"Yeah, there's a statue of an eagle near the Brightwood outpost, on the southern side, in some old ruins. Good a place as any to meet up."

"Alright then, but if Cross realizes you're following us he's going to want to know why, and if I can't disengage you'll be alone."

"I can handle myself, and avoid being spotted," he shrugged. "Especially when the legionnaires have to focus on marauders. Not that they'd stop you, of course."

"True," Joy conceded as the two looked across the ravine to the other side. Ashfeld could change from rather pretty fields and forests to a blasted hellscape at the drop of a hat. No place showed it better than Hell's Ravine, particularly as the lush undergrowth she was familiar with just did not grow in the woods here.

But she had her own reasons to go. She had questions. About the Blackstone Legion. What was it that gave them their reputation of fear - one far beyond the warrior ethos they held themselves to. How were men and women, brave fighters who would fit in with any other army she had fought with, the elements of terror to the point that deserters attacked them on sight and the Warborn acted as if they were even more savage then the savages themselves?

_Worry about that when you get there,_ she told herself. For now, she had to figure out how she was going to disentangle from the contingent heading out without simply deserting the ranks.

XXXXX

Leon's confidence in their success was well placed, as over the next day they swept north and made their way through with ease. The first outpost was abandoned, but there had been a few Nordic scavengers who were quite willing to talk about their kin in exchange for being released. They took up the offer, but the scavengers would not be released until after the army had crossed north.

The second outpost they struck during lunch, catching the Warborn as they were eating. They took some losses this time as they were against young and healthy warriors, but most of their foes were poorly outfitted. Their metal was their weapons and their helmets, save for a few huscarls accompanying their warlord in command. As Holden Cross dueled the warlord, who had clad himself in partial plate looted from some poor knight, Joyeuse had kept his two mailed Huscarls and the archers that had been at the outpost's roof busy.

Parrying the warlord's long gladius, Holden rammed his poleaxe into the warlord's side, impaling and running him into the wall behind. Pulling his poleaxe up for the coup de grace, the Warlord near drunkenly swung his sword again only for it to bounce off of the Lawbringer's faulds. Then the butt of the poleaxe was rammed through his helmet, penetrating and cracking it open, and with a tug the Warlord's life was ended with a red spray.

Satisfied, Holden turned to see Joy disposing of the last marauder, bringing her blade around to impale him before pushing him off the sword and immediately turning, ready for another attacker. When there was none, her guard relaxed.

"Well done," he nodded approvingly as he looked at the bodies.

"Thank you," she answered as she dipped her head, then pulled her visor up to take deep breaths and recover from the exertion. Holden did likewise with his own helmet, breathing in the fresh air, even if it was now thick with the scent of blood and barely digested lunch from one northern archer that had her stomach cut open in the battle.

The last cries of the Warborn in the garrison, and the Blackstones who had been wounded in the attack, came to a quiet as the wounded Warborn were finished off and the coup de grace for those too wounded to live. Hefting his poleaxe over his shoulder and stepping down the fort's stairs, the Lawbringer surveyed his victory. He saw Leon checking on one of his wounded legionnaires as another knight crushed a Warborn marauder's chest in with a spiked warhammer.

"So, Warden," he started. "Have you had second thoughts?"

"About Savona?"

He glanced back and nodded.

Joy hesitated, but she still answered. "Yes, but I'd make the same choice over again. Something has to separate us from our enemies."

That was what he had expected, but it also reassured him. That she would stand by her convictions, though in hindsight he really should have known better than to doubt a Warden's commitment to their ideals.

_Daubeny gave you reason,_ he reminded himself as how she joined echoed in his mind unbidden. But that was in the past… even if the memory caused a faint shiver as what had been lost hit him again.

"My lord?"

_She caught that?_ Holden glanced to the side as Joy had spoken up. _Of course she did..._

"I'm fine," he said, waving his hand. "Good. I still disagree, but stand by it. I need to be alone for a minute."

Joy glanced around, then back to him and bowed her head. "I'll help with the wounded."

He nodded, giving her a wave to tell her she was dismissed, and threw his visor back down. Every man had to deal with their grief at the most unusual times, and victory was one of them. But this was well after that loss.

_What would you have made of her, Ademar?_ He wondered as he opened a storehouse door, figuring he could obsteinly check the supplies if someone asked. As he stepped inside, his mind wandered.

He had dealt with and helped others deal with the grief of lost comrades over the decades he had been a Lawbringer, and sometimes men simply needed to take a moment to let it out. Some of the Blackstones preferred to stay out of each other's grief, Apollyon was one of them, as were most of the Blackstone Warlords. But there had been warlords in the past who had the patience to help their warriors through…

Resting his poleaxe against a nearby crate, he looked at his own hands as suddenly he was back when he thought he had lost friendships. Hands clad in those very same gauntlets that throttled the life out of his legion's liege-lord at the end of a duel…

_She was right,_ he sighed. It still stung, even if he had saved the men whose captivity caused their lethal disagreement. He had avoided what she warned of, but only because he had friends who had stood by him not only to lead the Blackstone Legion into battle that day, but to tell him what she had tried to warn him of even after seeing his anger in full display.

"Would she stand up to me?" he muttered to himself as he glanced around. Ademar had, when the duel had ended. He had tried to warn him off, and Holden ignored him… yet he stayed with him afterwards. Perhaps they had grown stronger for it. And maybe, with experience, Joyeuse could do the same if he forgot those lessons in age.

But did he want her to? She was proving herself time and again, and he knew that the men where whispering. Wondering when he would formally take her on as his second, to have her take Ademar's place in name as well as practice. And the excuse of taking time had fast run out in their months of campaigning.

Exhaling sharply as he turned, his heart almost skipped a beat as he saw someone standing before him.

She was clad in a leather overshirt that split into skirts past her waist, a partial tabard running down her chest in Blackstone colors, almost like an orange sword on a black background with the legion's symbol at her chest. She wore little metal armor; a shoulder guard on her right, metal greaves over her boots, and her helmet. That helmet… carved like something from a demonic legend, giving the viewer no sight of the face beneath it, and mostly obscured by the leather hood she wore over it all.

And she took a step forward, a silent and nearly machine-like step that was silent even on the rough hewn stone that made up the ground of the storehouse. Then she tilted her head ever so slightly to meet his gaze.

"Mercy," Holden growled as he reached for his poleaxe. "I thought you were on a mission to Valkenheim."

"I returned," she answered with a shrug.

"Obviously. But why here?"

"Apollyon sent me. You also missed some Vikings."

"Oh?" he tilted his head.

"A few warriors, making their way further north. Still walking towards the Brightwood Chapel, if you want to send someone after them."

"They'll be dealt with. What did our master send you here for?"

"Simply to inform you that she is early to the rendezvous, and would meet you as soon as possible. I noticed you have a new Warden too..."

_Not the time,_ Holden thought as he stepped towards the door. "I'll send her to deal with the stragglers. You just finish whatever Apollyon tasked you to do."

"Always," she answered, turning her head as the Lawbringer stepped past, then remained silent, likely to go into the shadows.

Mercy had her uses, but she was Apollyon's personal assassin, all while apparently still being in the good graces of her order. Holden knew enough - and Lilith - to be suspicious of those circumstances, but he held his peace. He never overturned anything untoward about it, and it was better to not rock the boat. Besides, he had a bigger irritance than one Peacekeeper's silent pride…

Shoving his misgivings aside, he strode through the outpost and found the Warden talking with one of Sir Leon's legionnaires.

"Warden," he said as he stopped before her, pressing his poleaxe against the ground.

"My lord," she answered, dipping her head. The legionnaire bowed deeper, then took a step back.

"Apollyon is early to the rendezvous, so we'll be moving on. However, a few stragglers are apparently heading north, towards the Brightwood Chapel."

She immediately straightened up as he mentioned where.

"I'll handle it," Joy said as she bowed her head and turned towards the gate.

_Damn, she even has his confidence…_ he recovered from the surprise as he turned as she walked off. "Need backup?"

"I'll be fine," she answered without even looking back. "I saved Harrowgate, I can handle a few stragglers!"

She kept walking, and Holden found himself sighing. "Careful with that ego…"

The legionnaire standing there glanced back and forth, before finally clearing his throat. "Mi'lord, if I may?"

The Lawbringer nodded firmly.

"She seemed eager to go alone, sir."

"She was," he agreed as he glanced towards the nearby wall and noticed Mercy had managed to get up there. "What were you discussing?"

"Just warned her about Krassus and a few of the lads; they're still sore over Richard."

_She's used to that, this is something more,_ he immediately knew. She hadn't tossed Harrowgate out before when talking about handling something, she wanted him off the scent. Which meant she was hiding something, something she did not want him to know about. It was the farmers outside Savona again, but this time she did not trust him… and the trained investigator in him was not going to let that slide.

Assuming Apollyon had not given her other orders, Holden knew just who to ask to find out for him. Especially since Apollyon had taken interest in their newest champion.

XXXXX

Some rendezvouses were quiet, clandestine meetings away from civilization for reasons of business, sport, friendship, love, crime, or all of them at once. Others were affairs of great pomp and circumstance as lordly personages were welcomed and dignified each other's realms. Some were simply quiet meetings where two travellers met up and moved on together.

And then there were those when your path was revealed by a Conqueror taunting Viking marauders.

"Leather makes _terrible_ armor!"

Yep. That was Stone.

He could handle himself, having already killed one of his four attackers, but just because he could didn't mean that jumping in was inappropriate. Especially since he was expecting her.

Rounding the bend into the remaining stonework of some building, Joy had already drawn Dusk and came to see Stone swinging a Warborn woman with twin hatchets around with his flail, knocking her into a warrior in a blue kilt and toppling both of them over. Then the Conqueror moved his shield around to stop a mace from hitting his shoulder, deflecting the blow and pushing that warrior aside as Joy ran in and brought Dusk around from the top.

Daubeny's former sword sunk into that warrior, cutting past the leather and with no gambeson beneath the treated cow hide that warrior soon had metal about where his heart was supposed to be. Yanking the blade out with a grunt, Joy turned and took on the woman as Cross got his flail around the other man's neck, kicked his leg out from under him, and tugged.

The woman dodged to the side, striking fast - fast enough that it caught Joy's arm, but her mail deflected the worst of it. Biting back the pain, Joy swung quickly with a pair of cuts that bled the northwoman before a third blow finished the job - particularly as it managed to cut through her neck. The Warborn woman dropped the two hatchets, clutching her now opened neck as she also bled from the sides, and toppled over by the ancient statue of an eagle on a pedestal.

"Nice timing," Stone said as he rolled his shoulders. He had new marks on his armor, but it didn't look like there was anything that drew blood.

"Hunting them was how I got away," she answered as she checked the arm wound. Cut into the mail but not the gambeson beneath. A bruise at worst. "You ready?"

He nodded. "Yeah, almost managed to work up a sweat. Brightwood isn't too far."

"Let's go then."

The two made their way onwards through the surprisingly forested path given how close they were to Hell's Ravine, and the geyser that she could hear puffing up water across the ridge ahead.

But now that she was out here, free for a little while to answer her questions, it dawned on her that she was lacking a plan.

She wanted answers, but how was she supposed to coax it out of them? She was in Blackstone colors, as was Stone, so there was a chance they would simply be attacked and be forced to kill her chance for answers - to kill Stone's brothers in arms - in self defense.

And what if the answers where what she feared, what would she do then? And even if she did not get her answers, Wardens could not simply claim blissful ignorance when they had suspicions…

"Something you want to talk about?"

Stone's question jolted her as she noticed they were passing by a tree that had an old metal cage with a skeleton hanging in it.

"Not yet," she said quickly. She trusted him, he was Iron Legion in its original spirit, but until she knew what she was going to do, she decided it was better to keep quiet.

"What, no remark about the cage's brutality?" he asked, nudging her arm with his shield. "I thought you were a Royal."

"I am, it's just… this isn't the time for it."

The Conqueror caught the hint and stayed silent until they rounded the next bend, where just a stone's throw away Hell's Ravine opened up and Mount Ignis' fiery gift to the world rumbled southwest. He stopped them there, pointing out the ruins of a church across the ravine, surrounded by the stonework of their ancestors. To their left, the decayed ruins of an old outpost, though the bridge leading across the ravine was still intact, at least from where she was standing.

"If Alberic was right the deserters should be in there," Stone remarked as he inhaled. "Hopefully it's Will; I should be able to talk to him if he is."

"And if it isn't?" she asked, glancing at him.

"Maybe you ought to take the lead on it in that case," he answered with a shrug. "Wardens are diplomats, right?"

"Assuming we can negotiate," she answered as she inhaled. "You heard Alberic. They all abandoned their posts. But _why_?"

He looked down for a moment. "That I don't know… but be honest with me, Warden, do you think it could be my fault?"

"You could've tried to talk terms to save yourself at Harrowgate, but didn't," Joy turned to face him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You defended your people. If it's your fault, then all knights are at fault because that's what we're here for. To protect our people."

"Even then…" Stone exhaled. "Let's get a closer look, then we can decide how we want to approach this."

XXXXX

Holden Cross was a very competent man, both as Lawbringer and as one of the Blackstone Legion's warlords. Subordinate to their true master and warlord, of course, but he was not one for ambition. He also had a soft spot for the heroes of eras long gone, of times only happier because what survived of those times was song and record by those who avoided most of the disasters that plagued day-to-day life or the horrors of war. Legends of heroes that would simply take care of a threat alone and then continue their dutiful watch.

But as Mercy glanced out from the boulder she had hidden behind, she had to admit that this time he managed to see through it while she was the one who allowed herself to assume the innocent explanation. The Warden had met up with none of that than Harrowgate's Conqueror and former commander, and having dealt with the Warden's mission the two were now on their own little quest. Investigating deserters, just as Cross had mentioned as a possibility given the Warden's conduct around Savona.

_And that just makes her all the more curious_ , the Peacekeeper decided as she stayed in cover on the ridge they were making their way around to enter the ruins of the old outpost. She had tied her blades down in their sheathes to avoid them rustling, which often gave away unwary scouts when they had to move at pace. Not that she felt she had to; the Warden appeared to be in her own world as she walked, and the Conqueror was pointing out the ruins ahead.

Besides, they were still nominally on the same side. Even if Wardens could become their master's most bitter rival when their fealty was abused, she highly doubted one would kill a fellow sworn legionnaire without provocation. Then again, Ashfeld had a way of revealing those who failed honor's trial.

Still, she knew what they were heading towards. She had seen the deserters on the way to meeting Cross. A Conqueror that was dressed much like Stone was, save for a bronzed pot helmet rather than a kettle helm, and a half-dozen sergeants with spear, sword, and one with a halberd. All returning to the chapel having looted what a Nordic family had abandoned in their haste to flee. Once proud wolves reduced to crows picking the bones of sheep. She hadn't mentioned it - it hadn't seemed relevant to tell him at the time. Oh for hindsight.

_That's enough,_ she told herself as she slowly brought herself to the ground to crawl away, at least until she was far enough to move more confidently. Her mission was done, now she needed to make it back to the rendezvous to report on where they had gone. An easy task, though if it turned to violence what would they return to find?

That thought kept her as she made her way back, only to have to take cover minutes later in a graveyard as another party was coming. More knights in Iron Legion colors…

"Keep moving!" the leading knight said in a rather hushed call. Still loud enough to be heard, but he was straining between the rustling of mail and a degree of stealth. "We need to warn Jasper about what's coming!"

"Henry, are you sure it's worth it?" another knight answered as she turned to look at him. "He's not exactly what I'd call a knight!"

"We need him if we're going to make it to Austrus!"

_Interesting,_ Mercy thought as she saw the path they were taking - a trail straight to the same chapel that Cross' new recruits were going towards. Her mind noted the potential need to go back and warn the two, but her heart ignored whatever plea may have lived there. After all, she had to deliver what she had seen.

Which now raised a new question - why was her heart cold to the plight those two warriors in their quest for understanding?

"Doubt is death, doubt is death, service is life, service is life," she muttered to herself, repeating it like a litany until those uncomfortable thoughts left.

XXXXXX

Stone had figured out that it was not William when one of the deserters had decided, for whatever strange reason, to relieve himself at the edge of the ravine. But that still meant that these men had abandoned their posts when Ashfeld needed them most.

_All Legions share the same oaths,_ Joy thought as the two approached the chapel, the lookout turning inside without a word. Why had these men abandoned it so easily?

What remained of the chapel was little more than the outer structure and the surrounding tombs. Old statues that had begun to at last crumble, rock that had been well weathered by its proximity to the ravine, and surprisingly undergrowth in the tombs above a small ridge.

The chapel resembled its environs as she and Stone stepped inside and saw who resided within. Sergeants in tattered Iron Legion tabards over gambeson and broken mail, with assorted weapons. And at the far side, sitting on a crate with the Iron Legion's crest as if it was a throne, another Conqueror in a bronzed helmet. The lookout whispered something to his leader before the ruin fell silent as everyone stared at the two Blackstones.

Joy decide to break the silence with the question that now burned in her mind. "Why have you abandoned your posts?"

The Conqueror on the crate tilted his head, then leaned forward with a growl. "A Blackstone dog has dared stray from her pack." He grabbed his flail, rising. The others grabbed their weapons too, standing from their seats.

"Stand down!" she ordered, "Your people need you!"

The lead deserter took another step forward before stopping, staring at Joy's chest - or more specifically, what was worn over it. "What's a Warden doing fighting for Apollyon?"

"Harowgate almost fell, hundreds of your brothers and sisters in arms died on its ramparts!" She then pointed to Stone, "This knight, your liege-lord by right of his command of Harrowgate, almost died as you were here hiding!"

"And a Royal, this far from her family's lands? This is Ashfeld, little dove, not the pretty cage you grew up with." He punctuated the insult by allowing the head of his flail to hang loosely.

Stone matched the movement, the Conqueror taking a step forward towards his all-too-similarly dressed counterpart. "One of us should go home and change!"

Joy held a hand out as she saw the other sergeants were edging closer with their own weapons. "All Legions swear the same oaths," she continued, "so I ask again: _why have you abandoned your posts?_ "

"Why did the Royals abandon Ashfeld, leaving us to fend for ourselves?" He eyed her, holding his arms open and starting to pace side to side. "Over twenty years ago, this was all Viking territory. Only Harrowgate and a few other castles held."

"She knows that," Stone shot back. "Make your point, Jasper."

"Then she knows of the great chivalric crusade the royals launched," he waved his free hand theatrically as the surrounding sergeants snorted in disgust, "The army of princes come to save us, they said. And they rode home after a single season, content to let the Vikings keep northern Ashfeld once they had a buffer again. Tell me, Royal, why did your father abandon _us_?"

Joy tightened the grip around her undrawn sword. "My father led five hundred men to Ashfeld. Battle hardened warriors, all of them valiant and dozens buried in Ashfeld soil. My father spared from their rank only by God's grace."

"Spare me the family annals. We don't care about your inbred pedigree, especially a cowardly one."

Dusk came out of its hilt in the blink of an eye, though Joy held her position. "Choose your next words with care, deserter, especially when talking about your betters."

"Uh, Joy?" Stone warned as he raised his shield.

The rogue Conqueror stared at her, picked up his shield, and gave a simple two-word order.

"Kill them."

They were going to have to fight their way out.

The deserters moved in, spreading themselves out to surround them, Joy facing the left as she put her back to Stone as he faced off with the right. She was facing a halberdier, a sergeant with sword and board, and the lookout with his longsword. Stone was facing a pair of spearmen and another swordsman. And of course, Jasper, the Conqueror in charge of these reprobates with his own flail.

The one with sword and shield moved first, approaching her to distract her from the halberdier as he shoved it towards her head. Ducking under the weapon's blade, Joy shoved her weight into the swordsman's shield, knocking him back as Stone started to spin up his flail and angled himself so his back was towards the the way out.

As the swordsman moved to collect himself, Joy turned towards the halbardier as he turned his weapon and brought it around. Unfortunately for him, the angle and the time he had prevented him from getting his momentum up, allowing Joy to take the blow with her shoulder guard and get a pair of quick cuts to his damaged mail that caught him in the chest, sending him to the ground.

But as she did that, head ringing from the blow she had taken, the first swordsman had come back and managed to hit her, catching her in the leg. Biting back the pain as she felt blood, Joy turned to defend when she heard the longswordsman about to hit her from behind. Before he could, one of Stone's opponents had lost his footing as the Conqueror hit his shield and sent him stumbling into both Jasper and the longswordsman. Joy seized the opportunity and ran Dusk along the staggered man's torso, biting through the gaps in his mail.

Grunting as she was suddenly knocked forward, that attack had left her exposed to the first swordsman again and he advanced towards her, Jasper on the side spinning up his flail. Stone dealt with the woman he hadn't knocked down, but Joy was not able to see the details as she had to keep her blade ready to defend from two sides. It was the curse of a two-handed weapon; she had superior reach and offense, but when she had to defend she had to _react_.

As the sergeant that had been knocked into the longswordsman went at Stone again, she had to defend against both opponents as the Conqueror to her left swung his flail in a wide arc. Joy caught it with Dusk in time to intercept it, the metal head hitting the sword… and left her gut wide open for the swordsman.

He stabbed forward quickly as Joy tried to get herself out of the way. She was somewhat successful, but only enough to save her life. The blade cut along her torso and she felt everything turn to ice as it bit into the mail and gambeson beneath, potentially even broke skin. But she did not feel anything spill out, or at least anything substantial, and fury did the rest as dodged back.

"You're all a disgrace to the Iron Legion!" Stone shouted, though what prompted that she could not see in the frenzy.

What she saw was Jasper bringing his flail back under control as she launched forward, hurling her weight into his. While she was much lighter than he was, her speed was enough and it knocked him back over the crate he had been sitting on. She expected to receive another stab, but as she glanced to the side as she brought her guard around she saw that Stone had engaged him as well, having dealt with his opponents.

"What has become of your oaths?!" she demanded as she and Jasper faced off, back to neutral footing. His answer was to charge forward, shield raised.

Joy dodged to the right in time as his momentum pushed him just past. Grabbing him by his shoulder guard with her left hand, she hurled him along his path, turning his attack against him. As he stumbled, she brought Dusk down, cutting along his helmet and running the blade down his spine. He screamed in pain, almost falling on his knees.

Glancing to the side as her own leg was hurting, she saw Stone dropping his shield into the neck of his opponent. All that was left was their leader. Jasper managed to stumble back up, abandoning his flail and grabbing a dagger instead. The two faced off briefly, then he moved first, keeping his shield close to him and the dagger behind it so she could not see where he was going to strike.

Unfortunately for him, he was now outnumbered, and Stone waded in with his own shield once Jasper had turned enough. The charge sent him tumbling to the ground and into the back of the chapel ruin, and Joy stabbed him through the neck to end the fight. Now only the moaning of the deserters slowly dying of their mortal wounds remained.

They had won, but was it a battle that they wanted to have had to win? That silent question hanged over them as they looked at the fresh corpses around t-

" _Move, get in there!"_

Joy turned sharply as she saw more deserters charging towards the chapel, and an arrow from one of them sailed in and hit Stone in the chest.

The Conqueror grunted as it hit, embedded into his mail armor, and he snapped the end of the shaft off as Joy shifted her position to cover him as the fresh deserters entered the chapel - a pair of knights, a man and woman of similar age both with longswords at the ready and in partial plate, backed by a dozen legionnaires.

"Blackstones!" the woman snarled as she stepped over a dying spearman, "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question!" Joy shot back as she glanced behind. Stone was getting back onto his feet.

"I… Stone?" the male knight said as he lowered his sword. "What are you…"

"Looking for you assholes!" the Conqueror snapped back as he staggered to his feet. "Where have you been?"

"Surviving," the woman answered. "Sir, you… you _traitor!_ You joined the Blackstone Legion?!"

"That woman," Stone pointed towards her, flail rustling, "saved Harrowgate! And she's Blackstone. And a Warden!" Stone inhaled sharply. "God _damn it_ who shot me…"

One man in gambeson with cloak towards the back seemed to step away as Joy thought she saw something black in the distance, but past the angry legionnaires in front of her she had no way of knowing.

"Is everything falling apart?" the rogue knight shouted as he looked side to side, throwing his hands down. "We don't have time for this - take them!"

Joy braced herself for a fight ahead, one she knew they would lose. However tired these deserters were from running in, they weren't wounded. She could feel her leg beginning to give from the wound she had received earlier, and nausea in her stomach. All that would be left for her to do was to try and give a good accounting for herself before joining the corpses.

Or it would have been, had this not been the day that she finally met their warlord.


	9. The Warlord

Growing up, Joy had listened to tales of heroic Wardens charging in with such ferocity as to leave those witnessing it paralyzed. She had thought it to be exaggerated; self-aggrandizing by her highborn parents and mentors of the awe of the commons as their betters lived up to the ideals of knighthood. She certainly had seen the inspiration at Harrowgate, but not the slacked awe they described.

Now here she was on the receiving end, and she suddenly understood what they were talking about.

The deserters were charged in the flank by a woman in black plate armor, her cloak trailing behind her as she had knocked aside the rogue legionnaires. All so she could announce her presence by shoving her longsword through one of the two rogue knights. The poor dame that was victim of their savior had the blade near-instantly shoved through her, neither brigandine, mail, nor gambeson saving the body encased within.

And as if that was not over the top enough, the new warrior flung that knight's body overhead and into the confused mass behind her. A legionnaire to Joy's left tried to move forward only for the heavily armored dame to strike him in the face with the pommel before turning to the other knight, parrying his blow so well that he staggered. More than enough time to turn and cut through the legionnaire's torso despite his armor.

The last leading knight tried to strike again as her back was turned, only to find their savior's crossguard wedged into his neck guard. With that leverage, he was hurled to the ground. Two more legionnaires moved in, one finding his blade blocked… and their savior grabbed it as their weapons were held together, kicking his shield hard enough that he had to let go. That maneuver had cost their savior as it allowed the second legionnaire free reign to slash her across the back, but between the cloak and the full plate harness all it did was stagger the black knight.

And she went with the blow, her longsword one-handed in her right as she cut his legs out from under him so he went into the air and onto his back, and the other sword was shoved into his heart.

The rogue knight tried a third time to strike at her neck while her head was ducked, but she heard it coming and avoided the swing. A quick pommel strike to the wound in his neck left him wide open to have his head removed with a simple flourish, and the remaining deserters were backing away as she turned towards them.

"Holy shit," Joy gasped as she stared at the carnage before her. She had seen highly skilled knights before, but this was something else entirely. There was no doubt about it in Joy's mind - whoever this woman was, she had to have been a Warden or some other champion of a knightly order. Or at least, she used to be.

Not that she had time to contemplate further - she had already stood around like the village idiot long enough, Stone was holding defensively from his wound, and the other deserters were not ready to surrender. They were backing away, but more Blackstone Legionnaires had come up behind them, boxing them in. Two warriors stepped up to confront the black knight that had killed five of them easily, a hooded archer who tossed her bow aside to dual wield sword and dagger, and a sergeant with morningstar and heater shield.

The two moved forward together as the legionnaires battled, the archer using herself as bait to draw the knight's attacks as the sergeant spun up his morningstar, but the black knight blocked the strikes and ducked under a swing of the morningstar, shoving him over. Joy leapt to the attack, going for the sergeant as the archer went at the black knight again. All the more fool her - she managed to get her dagger into the knight's armor, only to be grabbed and struck in the face by the gore covered pommel, then beheaded while still dazed.

Joy, however, was having far less luck. She kept the morningstar at bay, but she was being pushed back and her leg gave way to the stress as she tried to parry a blow, tumbling into the remains of the stone wall behind her and to her knees. Stone moved forward to try and knock him off, but the sergeant took the blow and knocked the wounded Conqueror back, stumbling him and swinging his weapon up again.

And as Joy looked up to see the morningstar about to fall on her head, a blade cut through her would-be killer's arm. He could only look at it in what was only shock before his head came off from the follow-up swing, body tumbling aside.

Coughing as she looked past where her opponent had been, it only took Joy another moment to piece together who had come to save her. There was only one woman who wore full plate armor in Ashfeld and had a Warden's skill with the longsword. The helmet was also a dead giveaway, now that Joy could see the details.

It was an armet of typical Lawbringer style, but the visor had been halved so it only covered up the lower jaw. And that only enhanced the appearance of a human skull that the rest of it gave - the two slits where the nose would be, and the depression for the eyes which was covered but had several holes for vision. There was no doubt.

"Apollyon," Joy whispered, stunned at just who had come to save them.

Only now did the Warlord of the Blackstone Legion seem to notice the dagger that had been lodged into her chestplate, pulling it out without a care for the pain and tossing it aside, then offering the same hand.

"Got you Blackstone," Apollyon said softly. Joy could almost hear her master's smile as she took it and was pulled up. More Blackstones had arrived, including Holden Cross, and the surviving deserters - seven of them - were held at sword point by the Blackstone forces. Apollyon gave her a nod, then turned to deal with her captives.

That left Joy to go help Stone, as he was propping himself up against the wall. She helped him to his feet.

"Not too bad," he grunted before wincing. "Yeah, I'm going to need Noelle to look at it…"

That seemed wise; simply tearing out the arrowhead was liable to do more damage. They needed time to open the wound enough to safely remove the arrow, and that was not something to do then and there if they had the time. Not that Joy was unwilling to, but medicine was dangerous enough _with_ a skilled surgeon.

"Are you two alright?" Cross asked as he walked over to them.

"We should be," Joy answered as she looked at him only long enough to acknowledge him before glancing away. This was not how she had envisioned him finding out about their little excursion…

"Good," he said, though it was not the harsh bite she had expected. Or at least, no more than the usual gravel bouncing around when he spoke. He gestured towards one legionnaire, and the man jogged over, looked at Stone, dipped his head, and led him away, resting a hand to support him as they moved off.

That left Joy to watch as two deserters had decided to take advantage of the Blackstones sheathing their swords, attacking Apollyon with daggers. Before Joy could move forward to defend her liege, Apollyon had struck one just blow the neck with a punch while another of her knights dealt with the other one, knocking the small blade aside before grappling and tossing the man behind her, kicking him into the dirt and drawing her sword again to hold at his chest.

_Idiots,_ Joy thought as she knew their deaths were now certain. To answer mercy with an attempt to kill them? Men were hanged for less. Or worse, given this was Ashfeld.

Apollyon took it in mirth, however, a faint chuckle as she looked down at the two legionnaires that tried their luck as others took custody with swords to their throats. Then their master turned towards the other survivors.

The deserters were on their knees, hands hanging loosely past their waists, looking to the two who had spurned mercy and then to Apollyon as she began to pace and speak.

"Do you know what kind of creature waits for its own slaughter?" the Blackstone Legion's master asked.

None of the deserters answered, waiting quietly as Joy felt something besides the nausea from her wounds building up in her chest.

" _Sheep_ ," Apollyon supplied, almost spitting the word out as she turned, looking down and repeating it like a sigh. "Sheep…"

_What's going on?_ Joy wondered as she noticed Apollyon turning her sword's angle…

Then in the blink of an eye, she spun around and decapitated both of the two deserters in the forefront -

"No!" Joy growled, striding forward despite her wounds already drawing Dusk, only for a firm plated hand to grab the blade and stop her, Holden Cross had stopped her.

Despite their helmets, their gazes met, the Lawbringer holding his poleaxe in his off hand before her to stop her from moving forward as he kept his grip around the blade as Joy tried to tug further. Then he shook his head, pushing it back, and she suddenly realized why he was intervening. What could she actually do?

She hesitated as the other legionnaires and Blackstone knights butchered the other deserters, then reluctantly finished sheathing the blade and stepped back, looking away. Was this what the Warborn were so afraid of - was this why Blackstone banners were met with steel by Iron Legion deserters? Had they fled for this reason?

Afraid, Joy looked to the two legionnaires who had tried to kill Apollyon, only to find the knight and legionnaire holding them down now helping them to their feet as Apollyon turned, sheathing her bloodied blade as she stepped over the corpses from the battle and looked between them. The words that came next gave Joy the answers she feared.

"Welcome to the Blackstone Legion."

And despite herself, Joy found herself looking between the executions and blows of grace carried out, and the mercy that had been given to the select two. The strange inversion of honor, of spurning convention in a bloody display. All as Apollyon gazed back at her.

XXXXXX

With the two new recruits in tow, the detachment of Blackstones returned to the main army, towards Ghorst's Hold, for the final rendezvous and consolidation of the Blackstone Legion to its full field strength. When they were together, two and a half thousand legionnaires would march on Tholen to break whatever resistance the Warborn put up having suffered stinging defeat after stinging defeat. It would be a difficult but glorious affair as the Warborn would have their backs against the wall at Tholen, but the glory to be won there was nothing in Joy's mind.

Particularly as Holden Cross pulled her aside from the main army as they marched - and he had every right to be furious with her after what had happened. It was only dumb luck that they had been found and saved; had that not happened, she and Stone would have gotten themselves killed for nothing.

"So," the Lawbringer started as he made sure his visor was locked in the up position. "You and Stone planned this, didn't you?"

"We did," she admitted. There was nothing to be gained by lying, not that either her oaths as a Warden or honor as a knight permitted it. "We hoped it would be a quick affair. Find them, talk them down, and be back before you had to worry."

"And you did not see fit to tell me because…?"

"Because…" she inhaled. "I can't speak for Stone, but I wanted answers… I got them, but not from the deserters."

"From Apollyon," he frowned, briefly running his hand against his raised visor. "And now you know her laws of selection, to take in the warriors who refuse to yield."

"And honor backwards," she immediately shot back as she stopped, hand tightening around the blade of her sheathed sword. "You spare those who yield, not the ones who try to murder you the moment you put your sword away."

"The fate of deserters is in the hands of those who capture them, Warden. I know that even your oaths allow you to execute deserters for that crime alone."

"Yet the Blackstones give their own deserters the right of Trial by Combat?" Joy reached down and grabbed the Blackstone Legion pendant hooked to her belt, holding it up as she stopped. "What makes Hervis Daubeny's crime less than those men back there? He actively betrayed the Blackstones, spending its men for personal gain!"

Cross stopped with her, taking a step to turn as he glared at the pendant, eyebrows furrowed as he planted his poleaxe firmly into the ground. "We spoke of Blackstone deserters, Warden, not the deserters of another legion. I chose a course of action to lessen how many had to die for his treason. Would you rather that I had slaughtered every man-at-arms and knight who stood by their paymaster?"

She caught the unsaid question that came with it. "Does anyone truly wish to die for their cause? Besides the Warborn, of course."

Cross grumbled. "I'll concede that point, but I was well within my rights to not make the demand and simply wade through until Daubeny's head was on a pike."

"That I do not deny," she answered as she put the pendant back, "but he was resisting at every step of the way. Those men had conceded the battle. Yet they were the ones butchered as sheep."

The Lawbringer didn't answer immediately, pulling his weapon from the ground and shouldering it to continue walking. His answer came once they were moving again.

"The Blackstone Legion draws on that kind of strength, Warden. To fight past the end, and take the enemy with us when we go down. It's how we made it here. The survivors from Harrowgate, Stone's veterans? They're the same - they stood and fought well past the point they should have tried to negotiate terms."

"Against the northern horde, not their fellow knights. The Warborn enslave their captives, while we allow them to go home."

"Aye, if they can afford a ransom. Let's not kid ourselves, half the time prisoners are taken for the money, not mercy."

She shrugged. He had a point. "And we spare rebels who surrender to encourage the rest to yield without more bloodshed…" she inhaled. "This is why the deserters attacked Sir Alberic when they realized he was in Blackstone colors, why they called Stone a traitor for joining them, isn't it? Apollyon has done this before."

"Her laws of selection - those who are defiant to the end are spared for their courage, those who cower are put down. To cull the sheep from the wolves - a rout starts with a single man. Every man and woman in the Blackstone Legion chooses to join us, to fight to the end."

"Even the deserters conscripted into service?" Joy felt her eyebrow raising as she stared at him.

"They'll be free to go after the campaign season, knowing Apollyon. But she spared them where others would have hanged them… I imagine you would have, had it been your call." He turned his head to the side to look at her.

"The moment Apollyon's guard was lowered, they tried to kill her. Of course I would hang them!"

"So, against you, all a deserter need to do to receive generosity is to concede when you are present?"

She frowned. To be generous in victory - and graceful in defeat - was one of the oaths sworn as a Warden. But the Lawbringer was right; there would be deserters who would die regardless even as they had surrendered. As long as the surrender had not explicitly stated they were to be spared, their lives were not protected. But was that right for a Warden?

"That is why I stopped you," he continued as the silence mounted, interrupting her thoughts. "I knew you hadn't thought it through. You might not approve of it, but you're not violating your oaths serving a warlord who executes deserters."

"Maybe not," Joy answered, "but maybe now you understand why I did not tell you."

"Perhaps… but I let you investigate the countryside around Savona, didn't I?"

Joy felt her lip curling. "True." Taking a deep breath, she decided there was no point arguing further. Not after she nearly died like that. "You're right, Stone and I should have told you in Ghorst's Hold about our excursion."

"You're not an errant knight anymore, Joyeuse," he nodded as she conceded. "You're sworn to a legion, and that means you must think about the rest of your fellows. Just up and walking off to do your own thing not only skirts the line of desertion, but is grossly irresponsible when they need you."

She simply nodded along. He was right, and she really had nothing to say. Cross was right to be, well, cross with her over the affair.

"If I hadn't sent Mercy to follow, we would have assumed you deserted if we did not hear from you. At least until we found your corpse… if we ever did," he added.

Shivering as the thought passed through her like snow dropped down her tunic, she realized that whoever this 'Mercy' was, Joy owed them. If that person hadn't followed, she and Stone would have died with no one to know how, except their killers. And since they were in a hurry, they may not even remember that they had killed them if found later. The only good news on that front is that Alberic knew what was going on, particularly as Stone left him in charge. But that would have been small comfort for her family, if word was even sent that far south.

"Now then," Cross continued after giving her a moment to have his words sink in, "I'm not going to chastise you further on this. We were all young and stupid once, and we both were lucky enough to survive it. I trust you learned your lesson."

"Thank you, that's… generous. And Stone?"

"Given he left his troops where they were supposed to, I'll talk to him and move on. They were his men before they deserted, so he had good reason to want answers. Still, both of you should avoid doing this in the future. I appreciate initiative, but not like this."

"I understand, my lord."

"Good, then let's put this behind us. You're a valiant knight, Dame, I don't want to lose you to pride."

"Neither do I."

XXXXX

The rest of the return was uneventful. Ghorst's Hold was still in Blackstone hands, and Lord Guy would arrive within the day to cross north. The campaign was in motion.

And after being treated by Sister Noelle for injuries sustained, Joy and Stone had a moment alone outside the tent she had pitched within the courtyard to deal with the wounded. Stone had received treatment first, as his injury was the more severe, which gave Joy time to clean the other wounds… and grab extra rags from her pack as she discovered what time of the month it was. Just one more lingering pain.

But she put that aside as Stone stepped out of the medical tent, armor hanging loosely and with only enough straps to not come completely undone.

"How's the wound?" Joy asked as she looked up. He stopped and glanced down.

"It'll heal, as long as I don't tear it open fighting. Rear guard for at least a week, doctor's order."

"I'm sorry," she said as he sat down, glancing at her before taking a seat.

"Don't be. Not your fault - blame the archer that loosed an arrow blind. Speaking of that, was he one of…"

She shook her head. "No, I think he was killed in the skirmish."

"One more corpse for the cart…" Stone exhaled sharply. "Not sure if I should be relieved or not about this whole mess."

"William wasn't in that second band, was he?"

"Nah, he wasn't. So he's still out there, somewhere." The Conqueror looked up past the hold's walls as he spoke. "Guess I'll count it as a blessing, but how many died in there? A dozen, two?"

"Somewhere in between," she confirmed as she glanced towards the keep's main hall, where Apollyon was going to formally induct them into the Blackstone Legion. "Except for the two thugs."

"Yeah, that was…" Stone took a breath to steady himself. "Certainly puts who we're working for into perspective, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"First time I've seen someone pick their conscripts by if they try to kill them or not, though. I almost want to like it…"

"What?" Joy demanded as she turned. "You think that's a good thing?"

"Oh, God no, but you have to admit there's a sort of grace in it. You know, taking someone trying to kill you in stride. It's how I got here."

Joy's mouth hung open for a second before she shut it. He had a point. "Still, the fact she killed the rest of them as sheep bothers me."

"Should've just pressed them as laborers. There's going to be plenty of digging, even if it's just latrines. Then again…" Stone sighed. "Maybe we need that kind of brutality to deal with all this senseless killing."

"What do you mean?"

"With all the fighting, maybe Ashfeld needs a single banner," he explained, nodding towards the Blackstone one flying over the keep. "At least for a few years. Force a peace so we can recover."

"So what, just ignore anything that bothers us in the name of a unified Ashfeld?"

"I wouldn't say ignore, but…" the Conqueror tossed his head side to side. "Well, what're our other options? Fracture Ashfeld's knights right when we seem to be coming together?"

She remained quiet. That was in part how the Warborn got their foothold in the first place. Disunity amongst the knights and not being able to put their differences aside until it was too late.

"Besides, we haven't seen much of her," Stone continued. "Maybe this is just her strange thing, and otherwise she's the exact kind of leader Ashfeld leads. Not that the rumors say it, but… rumors."

"It doesn't really matter either way," Joy admitted as she shook her head, glancing around as she considered. "We're in the Blackstone Legion by our oaths. All we can do now is see it through to the end, and hope we do more good than evil along the way."

"I think we will," he added. "Once Ashfeld is free of the Warborn, we can ask ourselves how to go forward. Who knows? Maybe she's just brutal in war, but rules well in peace. Kinda the point too, since you have to win a war to have peace."

"I pray you're right, Stone." She felt herself exhaling sharply. She was a Warden, which meant the her word was her bond, but it also came with expectations. Even if Cross was right - technically what had happened was acceptable as desertion was a severe crime - Wardens had to be better than that. There was a reason so few could achieve their heights.

_And Apollyon was once a Warden,_ she reflected as she consider it. What had driven Apollyon, driven Ademar, away from their oaths? It couldn't be greed and ambition - Daubeny had shown what a Warden that fell to that was. So what made them different?

' _So says the sheep to the wolf!'_

Ademar's taunt back to Daubeny as he ordered their fatal duel onwards. Cross spoke of it later…

On the other hand, they were taking the fight to the Warborn. Ashfeld's liberation was at hand, the foreign invaders driven out. That was what knights were meant to do, right? And since only Ashfeld's chapter of the Iron Legion cared and paid dearly for it, maybe it was time for a new banner.

That still bothered her as she and Stone made their way to the quarters they had been assigned in the meantime while they waited for Lord Guy to arrive with the rest of the army.

XXXXXX

"So, what do you think of her?"

Holden tilted his head as Apollyon addressed him from across the table. A map lay between them of Ashfeld, and the two had updated each other on progress of their respective campaigns. "Any 'her' in particular?"

"You know who I'm talking about. Your new Warden."

He knew this was coming. "She lives up to the legend despite her youth, given Harrowgate. Anyone who can pass their trials as sixteen can't be anything but a prodigy. Yet with it comes pride, pride that I fear will see her dead before she can live up to her potential."

"We were all young once, and she refuses to yield. Yet I hear she let prisoners leave?"

"Aye, survivors from Savona's garrison. She made them swear oaths…"

"I know," Apollyon answered, holding up a hand. "I encountered them on the road."

"And?"

"They offered no resistance, citing oaths but showed they were well and ready to use steel if they were broken. The Warden made them swear to withdraw from the campaign… to escort those townsfolk in their journey?"

Holden nodded. "Yes, that was her hope. Ashfeld retains plentiful brigands, master."

"That it does… you're troubled?"

_Damn,_ the Lawbringer thought as he realized he was grimacing. "I was not in support of it, but the Warden made a sound argument. And she needed to learn the hard way."

"The folly of misplaced mercy?"

"The same folly that ended James." The sixth of the Blackstone Warlords, brought low by dissatisfaction in the ranks after he allowed many prisoners of the Temple Legion to go free after their failed effort to take the Blackstone's territory as a base to attack the Warborn with. It had been one of the more brutal campaigns, which was where the resentment came from along with how pointless it was.

Eventually, a lone crossbowman shot him and the surgery was botched. Whoever that lone legionnaire was, he was smoke by the time anyone could investigate. Or had been killed by their paymaster.

"Ah, our Lionheart," the former Warden leaned back in her chair, looking past the ceiling. "He was too soft to our fellow knights, but damn he was handy in a fight…" she stopped and looked back to him. "You worry she'll face the same fate?"

"Possibly. We'll see how today's lesson sticks. Almost dying from her own hubris should do wonders for making an impression. She knows it was dumb luck we got there in time."

"And you trust her?"

He hesitated a moment, wondering what her angle was, before he answered. "I trust that Dame Maylis means well and will honor her oaths to the best of her ability. However, we need to keep an eye on her. Youth's idealism doesn't fare well when faced by certain harsh truths."

Apollyon nodded. "I take it you intend to keep her around, perhaps a new second?"

Holden growled briefly, before realizing she was right. He did need someone for that role. "Soon. It's not the right time."

"Of course, I know you and Ademar were close friends. But history is in the making, and our enemies will do all they can to stop us. To keep the truths they do not want to admit hidden from the world."

"I will be ready for whatever comes," he answered as he glanced towards his poleaxe propped against the wall. "But first, we have to win our war in Ashfeld."

"That we do. We have broken the smaller colonial clans, but the Bloodtalons are the largest of the Ashfeld Warborn. We have beaten them in the field a few times, but they had room to retreat. At Tholen, their backs will be against the wall."

"And we'll face their best troops in Ashfeld," the Lawbringer exhaled as he continued. "Their hird is almost a legion in composition, with an extensive armory to draw upon."

"You're worried that they'll stop us? You already crushed an entire generation of Nordic adventurers."

"Through their own mistakes," he warned as he could feel his own voice darkening. "Two thousand warriors laid siege to Harrowgate, and they divided themselves in half to delay my arrival. Even then, many of them were young warriors who had yet to take proper wargear for themselves."

"Underselling your achievements, Asmodai? I thought you were above such."

He had to fight rolling his eyes. Why she still sometimes insisted…

"I am not underselling it," he growled to get away from those thoughts, "to have shattered it with as few casualties we had is something I remain proud of. I remain in awe of the achievements of a young Warden and weary legionnaires turning a losing battle to a victory. But I am aware that if we grow overconfident, we'll fall into the same trap that gave the Warborn their foothold."

She nodded once. "Then we treat them as the threat they are. You are right, their hird is one of the most well equipped even compared to Valkenheim, but there is one key difference we must continue to exploit. Their hird is made up of farmers and wood workers, while our Blackstone Legion are warriors first and foremost. That and our superior cavalry must be used to break them."

"Then we lay down a plan once we have a final tally of our assembly. Geofrey and the other heralds should arrive with Lord Guy with updated orders of battle. Once we tally them with the others, we can determine our plan."

"I look forward to it." With that she turned to leave, never one to give decorum save for the most formal of circumstances, and even then...

She stopped at the door, the claw-like fingers of her gauntlet reaching across the wooden frame as she turned partway. "By the way," she started, "I ordered Ademar's body to be buried in the Blackstone Fortress, should his nephew agree. He was a worthy champion, and should be remembered as such."

Holden was taken aback - it was always a possibility, but one he had not thought of since he also knew why Ademar fought - the home he bore in address. But having it said outright sucked the breath from him as he realized that yes, he was worthy of being laid to rest with the seven previous Warlords and other great champions of the Blackstone Legion. He should have made that part of the order, yet...

"Thank you," the Lawbringer finally said, "for doing what a friend forgot in grief."

"Of course. You were the friend he was closest to, but you are not his only friend. And they know that the best way to honor a warrior's memory is to carry on his fight."

With that she left, and Holden briefly felt like she had killed the sentiment of doing what he had failed to with it. But he knew Apollyon - and had known her before she took up that stupid demon name, one of the few left by sheer attrition. Her affection had always been cold and strange, but in this unusual case rarity was indeed an indicator of quality.

And beneath it all, she was right. But this was not the right time - not with the day's events in the legion's mind. Soon, though. Very soon.

XXXXX

The Blackstone Legion, now with the majority of its field army mustered together, marched towards Tholen. There were castles and forts along the way, but they were in poor repair or had been battered down in previous wars - some between Warborn clans - which enabled the Blackstone Legion to simply bombard with their artillery, roll a ram into position, and kick the gate in. With such holdouts, they hardly needed to bring their best in constantly, with Apollyon regularly rotating who was the first one in to ensure all had their chance to prove themselves and claim their victories.

It was the afternoon after Cross had his turn, a simple hilltop motte whose garrison decided to sally out on horseback only to find themselves hemmed in by spearmen and cut down, that Joy received a summons she had not expected.

"You sent for me, master?" she asked as she stopped several paces from the end of the hill the fort had been built on, a rocky outcropping that provided an overview of the surrounding countryside, particularly the farming village at the base of the hill whose occupants were submitting.

Apollyon stood at the edge of the slope, turning as the young Warden spoke up. "Ah, good. Come, Joyeuse, stand by me. It is past time we spoke."

After a moment's hesitation, Joy stepped forward until she was next to the former Warden, looking out at the view. Mount Ignis stood in the distance, and before them was Ashfeld, life-giving farmland alongside desolate patches to remind them of its brutal history. Legionnaires were working to set up a makeshift camp for that night's rest at the base of the hill as others were moving supplies up for those who would remain in the fort that night, or to come deal with the corpses.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" the older woman started. "Maybe not as beautiful as the lands you came from, but Ashfeld's beauty is far from convention."

"It's hard country, but it's not the wasteland some call it."

"Oh, Ashfeld has her wastelands. Near the cathedral at Aemilianus, there is a mile wide stretch of ponds and streams. A drained lake… and what water remains is more than poison, but death. Acidic from Mount Ignis."

Joy's eyes were drawn to the distant volcano, raising her visor so she could see unobstructed. "Yet its people survive despite that. Despite the Warborn constantly trying to take it from them."

The warlord snorted. "And the Iron Legion collapsed upon itself. Even some Lawbringers gave in, preferring to flee to safer climes. Ashfeld's people endure, but only because they must."

"Not everyone can live up to the oaths they swear, even as our orders try to discover that before they are sworn."

"No method is truly perfect, and every knightly order has their shame." Apollyon glanced down towards her left briefly before sighing. "I still wonder how I will go down in their hallowed annals, should they realize who I was. I hope they never have to."

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning. Why would Apollyon want the Wardens to forget she was ever one of their number? The idea of wanting to forget an achievement that few could attain even if they fell from grace later…

"The Wardens are a rare breed of warrior. True warriors, those who know what comes, and do not let it stop them. Is that not why we endure vigil in the crypts of Anastasis?"

"... to come to terms with our fate," Joy answered as her mind wandered back to her own initiation. "The inevitable."

"Death comes for us all. Tell me, did you expect to die at Harrowgate?"

Joy took a step back, looking down as her mind wandered back. An occupational hazard, she had called it. In hindsight, how had she been so cavalier about it? She knew it was likely going to end horribly - Cross knew it was, that was why he _asked_ her rather than simply order her to go! And yet she went in, and kept charging forward time and again. And a mere two days before that, in Westhold?

"No," she finally answered. "I knew it was possible, wrote it off as an occupational hazard, but... I never actually thought I would really die."

"Few do, even as they fight against it. To accept it in the mind is one thing," Apollyon lightly rapped the side of her black helmet. "But to accept it with your entirety… that is something that you will only learn when you are truly afraid."

Silence hung over them as they looked out to the setting sun. And now Joy found herself asking things that she thought she had already figured out. Most of it was something she thought she could push to later, but now a new question was rising in her mind. Had she _known_ the commitment she made two years ago in Anastasis, or had she just dared to assume…

"Holden told me that you became a Warden at sixteen," Apollyon interrupted suddenly, tilting her head to look at her.

"Yes, though as I told Lord Cross it was a near thing. The trials…"

"... push you to your limit. I remember them."

Joy simply nodded. Of course she did - that was probably one of her master's defining life experiences. "Most thought I was too young. Some are still surprised to realize just how young I am."

"Of course. To be a Warden is to achieve the pinnacle of what every knight claims to be. Even knights with a lifetime of experience fail the trials. The Iron Legion remain hypocrites, but they are right to venerate such champions. Few can navigate the contradictions of knighthood while remaining warriors."

Now Joy was even more confused. "Contradictions? What do you mean?"

"Much as knights try to avoid it, we are held between two opposing facets. We are the warrior elite, yet we are expected to simply sheathe our swords at our lord's command. Is the dubbing not meant to be the last blow we suffer without returning?"

Unbidden, Joy's left cheek felt sore again. It was probably just how she had landed during the last fight, but it was also where she had been slapped when she was knighted…

"It only grows worse, young Warden, when we look to our conduct in court. We are told to despise pecuniary reward, yet what is ransom in the end?"

"A guarantee of safe return, should we survive the battle in our foe's hands. A reward for mercy."

"Exactly. A reward for an act at knight should be expected to do by honor. And now prisoners are taken not out of any sense of chivalry, but simply to make back a warchest. Of course, it only applies to knights… how often is the common soldier simply butchered?"

She had no answer. Although often captured soldiers would be drafted into an army, it was just as likely the common soldier would simply be killed as another burden on supplies…

" _To be generous in victory and graceful in defeat._ Yet it does not say to whom the generosity is given, or what happens if you are a graceful loser. I saw what transpired in the ruins of that chapel, you disagreed with killing those deserters. And I hear you were also generous in Savona…"

Cross' warning that some would not appreciate it rang in her mind. "I still stand by it."

"So you say."

"Are you questioning that my word is my bond?"

" _To uphold our oaths, even if we detest their binding.'_ " The former Warden let yet another of their vows hang in the air. "No, I trust that you mean it here and now. But what if Orobas and his zealots decide that your prisoners were heathens deserving of death? Would you stand by it then?"

Orobas - another of the founding knights of the Blackstone Legion and with that one of its commanders like Cross. A fanatic that the Lawbringer made his low opinion of quite clearly, even without elaborating on the details.

A quick rebuttal was at the tip of her tongue, but she held it down. She already stood back once - at Cross' guidance or not, she couldn't make a boast that was now empty. Suddenly, she was thankful that her mother ensured she had learned the skills of court as well.

"If I give someone my word that they will be spared, then neither he or any other will break it while I can still back it with my steel."

Apollyon laughed. "A Warden's conviction married with politics' exact words. Perhaps you should have been born a Samurai's daughter rather than a Royal. They are the masters of wordplay with their complex haiku."

Joy tilted her head at the sudden change of topic. "What do you mean, master?"

"We knights are not the only ones who face contradiction, who struggle with the dissonance in our society. We all claim to live for honor, yet have become blind to the half-truths we use as cloaks."

Apollyon turned, her own tattered black cloak flowing as she did, pointing towards the fort the Blackstones had taken… no, past it. East, towards the Myre.

"The Samurai of the Dawn Empire. Fierce, fearless, and cunning tacticians dedicated to being their Emperor's tools of war. They would rather take their own lives than dishonor that loyalty. Yet their Emperor commands them to wear sentiment as a shield, to spend their days crafting zen poetry about virtues and in praise of an honorable lifestyle. All while they devise new and horrible traps to kill the enemy, and each other, in war."

Joy swallowed, unsure of the point Apollyon was making as the older woman rested a hand on her shoulder and pointed north.

"The Vikings, the reaving fighters of the Warborn Clans. Their very name conveys a sort of honesty that is sorely lacking in this world, yet despite their paradise being an eternal battlefield they hide it. Amongst themselves, they act as if kin and clan are sacred even as they were raping and robbing our own families hours before. All while they fight each other far more than they fight us."

While all true, how did this relate to contradictions amongst their own ranks?

"And us, the Knights of the Iron Legion. Once unconquerable under a single banner, under the banner of the greatest of our ranks, now divided into petty politics. Bending the knee to lords and ladies who have forgotten that the highborn rose to power by little more than being faster, better, or luckier than someone else."

"That is a cynical outlook, master. Are your own knights, is Holden Cross not proof of noble valor and martial prowess?"

"Ah, of course. Look who I'm talking to." Apollyon chuckled, shaking her head. "They are willing to fight to uphold it, and so they have taken their so-called 'rights' by force of arms. Yet even then most are unworthy of daring to call themselves noble, even as they fight. Yet you… you allow your lessers to challenge you."

"You heard about that legionnaire?"

"At first in passing, then I asked. It's a rare knight that would allow such an insult to stand from a common soldier. To duel a fellow knight over such is expected, but a common legionnaire lacks standing. You did nothing wrong in how you beat him down."

Joy felt her shoulders tightening as what she had done came back. "I still beat him down regardless. At best, I gave it more pretext."

"Hardly, Joyeuse. Most knights would simply invoke rank and have him tied down. You faced him, warrior to warrior, and took your satisfaction. No, what you did was praiseworthy! Your worry is that of centuries spent telling knights to be something other than what we are: warriors, wolves who fight together for what we deem worthy of dying for."

Somehow, that seemed to help. After all, Joy had told herself after that duel that she had acted generously by her rank. Yet somehow, there was still something off about the entire thing…

_Put that aside,_ she told herself. This woman, this knight, had decades of experience over her and lived to tell of it. She also knew the vows of a Warden.

"Perhaps, but I need to ask something," Joy finally answered. "Why did you leave the Wardens?"

Apollyon leaned back, resting a hand on the hilt of her longsword as silence fell over them, the question probably rolling over the elder woman. Joy suddenly was keenly aware that this was an extremely personal matter, and she had barely met this woman. But Apollyon eventually answered.

"As many reasons as I joined in the first place, but if I had to pick one… I would call on the ancient argument of why our order stepped down from the Iron Legion."

The old cynical rhetoric that it was honor that caused the Wardens to decline as they led the Iron Legion, thus they ceded the role to the Iron Commanders. "Honor has its price," Joy answered.

"Indeed, and their willingness to pay is what makes the Wardens worthy of calling themselves noble. They die upholding that promise in forgotten graves across the realms. I would not stain their fate by shirking that duty if it meant preserving the Blackstone Legion. And until its purpose is done, we must triumph."

Now her suspicions were back to the fore, frowning. "What purpose?"

Apollyon turned, expression still hidden by the helmet she wore. "To remind all of our people who they are. Tell me, if your parents had their way, what would your life have been? An early and politically convenient marriage, I imagine, with all the burdens it comes with."

Joy found herself shifting uncomfortably where she stood.

"Another of civilization's contradictions. As a knight you command respect for your skill in war, yet should you chose to embrace this destiny you will one day be scorned as an old maid. Perhaps not to your face, but it will be said."

"We are warriors, master, but there has to be more than war. Otherwise, what is the point?"

"That is entirely up to you. What do you wish to fight for - for the oaths you swore? If so, then you must be ready for the time they conflict. Only then will you understand, and the choice you make will define what you are."

"How do you know?"

Apollyon chuckled, reaching for her neck and undoing the straps that kept her helmet on. "Because I faced that trial, shortly before the Blackstone Legion was founded. I upheld my oaths, but it was a near thing. Too close for what I am here to do."

Once the straps were removed, Apollyon removed her helmet. Joyeuse was not sure what she had been expecting - an older woman, certainly, but with Apollyon's ferocity, the adopted demon name, and the skeletal look of her helmet she perhaps wondered if it was something more nefarious.

Yet Joy still felt shock as she saw Apollyon's face. Had age's lines taken form, was her braided brown hair mostly greyed, did she have scars? Yes, it was all there. She was even rather pale, almost to an unhealthy pallor, but not so much that Joy couldn't write it off as a result of being encased in armor during long campaigns. Her brown eyes were on the bloodshot side, but if the campaign had been as intense as the last few days Joy's would be soon enough. Even the scars didn't take from it - a thick one that crossed past her left eye yet had not cut into it, and a second thin scar along her cheek that almost acted like an expanded mouthline.

She was, for lack of a better word, a normal woman. Not a demon or monster like the Warborn saw her as or the name implied… but a human woman, a knight who had won her place by martial valor and had decades of experience for the next generation to look up to. For a young knight like Joy to learn from.

"It was the day I met Holden Cross: a Lawbringer who stood where one of his predecessors fled. We should have died that day, but we barely held our ground until Mulciber came with the others. The founding warmasters gained their fifteenth member that day, and we understood what was needed for our quest. A legion that shunned the politics that kept us divided, that kept us from the purpose of knights in the first place."

"To stand as the guardians of our people," Joy finished, "To stand strong against all invaders."

"Duty our shield, order our weapon. To become immortal by defending the weak." Apollyon's voice then began to muffle as she put her helmet back on. "But the weak must admit what they are, or our 'civilized' world will never learn from what happened to Ashfeld."

As she reapplied the straps holding her helmet on, the two stood quietly until she finished as the sun set.

"As our legion began to form, I understood. To accomplish our goal, for all the suffering to mean something, we would have to pick our battles. We would not be able to save everyone, no matter what troubadours might sing. To survive, we would have to accept that we would shed our chivalric cloak."

Apollyon rested a hand on Joy's shoulder, pointing southwest. "Ask them, your highborn peers in their decadent courts, and we have shunned what separates us from the Chosen and Warborn. But you? You go beyond words and heraldry to what matters: fighting our enemies."

"Strike for Honor," she whispered. Her family's words, sometimes written as 'Strike for _your_ Honor', the reminder that their status and station lay in their military protection of trade. Their wealth lay in their position between the Ironrush River and the inner sea of the Whitewater, but only because they defended it.

Apollyon caught her unguarded utterance, chuckling. "If those are your house's words, prove their worth to Ashfeld. Show us all how you became a Warden at sixteen." She began to turn away, "Sleep well, Dame Maylis."

And with that, Apollyon walked back towards the fort, leaving Joy to look out southwest. Towards home, and to wonder what her family thought with her so far from them. What her mentor, the man who brought her to become a Warden over the concerns of his peers, would think of what she was now involved in.

And of course, Apollyon. Her gut still said that something was off about her, but she was no sadist looking for little more than blood. For all her cynicism, she showed a surprising knowledge, spoke of respect of the order both faced the trials of. Spoke truth, a truth that had crossed her mind as she learned the points of chivalry by rote and the occasional chastisement.

But did being true prevent them from working towards something better? Exhaling sharply as the sun had almost fully set, she turned back towards the fort. She needed time, time to really come to grips with this.

Joyeuse simply prayed that, if she did face what Apollyon spoke of, she would acquit herself well. But the idea that it might cause her to leave behind her oaths even if she succeeded… had her youth been chasing a fantasy?

More questions. She thought the warlord had given her an answer, perhaps too late for her to act on it, yet now all she had was more things to sort out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest challenge for this chapter was Apollyon; it's a very fine balance between "she's crazy!" and not straying too far from her philosophy. After all, while Apollyon was always different, she did not show just how crazy she was until Sverngard. Still, it was great to finally be able to get into her presence and its shadow over the various characters.


	10. The Liberation of Tholen

"My lord?"

Holden Cross, still wary from the meeting he just left, glanced around the table in his command tent as the acknowledgement came from the Warden. She was waiting with his other contingent leaders - reduced to Stone, Davis, and Vorena as the others were reassigned to different elements of the army.

They were camped not far from Tholen, poised to attack. They would march the rest of the morning, and be ready to strike when they arrived. It was the last push for Ashfeld: if they won, all that would remain were scattered bands and holdouts that could be destroyed at will.

"We are to move out soon," Holden answered as he took his place and pointed his finger at the map on the table, running it along the route they would take. Hills and woodland along the road, but nothing particularly dense and it opened up into clearings multiple times. "Lord Truffe is moving ahead to sweep the road with his heavy foot and set up the ground for our artillery. With Lord Guy's heavy cavalry, he should be able to sweep aside any pickets."

Davis chuckled. "I bet d'Aemelianus is furious at serving under Beelzebul's command."

Holden shrugged. "We go where we're ordered to go. Leon's men are with him, so they are reinforced."

"What about other legions?" Joyeuse asked as she pointed towards the map's west side. "The Gryphon and Visage Legions were reconstituting their ranks during the Siege of Savona, and we already have some of their numbers in our ranks. That would be at least another six hundred legionnaires to support us."

"They're days away," the Lawbringer shook his head. "And even if they got here in time, those two are bringing green recruits to replace losses from Harrowgate. The fighters they could have recruited are in our auxiliaries right now, if they haven't gone home already."

"And the rumors about other splinter legions in the south," Stone weighed in as he folded his arms. "Those lordlings have always been wind vanes, but the threat of the Vikings kept them from going too far."

"Most who joined are still with us," Joy countered. "They chose to see it to the end."

"Maybe, but once the Vikings are gone…"

Holden simply nodded as the Conqueror left the implication in the air: it echoed his own thoughts. He was supposed to stay in the south for a bit longer in the original campaign plan, to spend time pacifying and making sure the local lordlings knew who was in command. The Warborn massing in Tholen as they had accelerated the timetable to the point where that was infeasible.

_Put it aside for now,_ he told himself. "Regardless, with the situation it is likely this battle will be that of the Blackstone Legion alone. We've been preparing for this for a long time and now, today, we finally live up to our founding."

He looked to each of them, keeping his expression hardened. "I know each of you and the legionnaires we lead are up to the task. Today, we end the Warborn occupation of Ashfeld once and for all, and send them to their gods in awe of our armored might."

Pushing himself off the table, he turned to grab his poleaxe. "Now let's go win the war!"

XXXXX

If the Blackstones were going to win the war, they really needed to work on opening the endgame.

Though given the circumstances of how he joined the Blackstone Legion, Stone decided he really couldn't complain. Especially since like Harrowgate, the Warborn were hurling a huge amount of stuff into the fight. And the Blackstones had a full view of it from the downward slope they stood at the top of.

Their forward force, some six hundred infantry led by Beelzebul, had managed to avoid being ambushed as far as he could tell. The battle was on the road overlooked by a small farming village at the top of a hill nearby on the other end of some light woods, though it was too far to factor into the battle, at least at the moment. The Blackstone Legion was caught on all three sides, with the center being pushed in slowly and the flanks giving ground with it in an effort to maintain cohesion.

Some of the artillery train had managed to deploy, particularly the smaller pieces like the scorpion ballistas, and even one of the larger engines managed to set up. That mangonel was was lobbing whatever it could at the enemy - including several Warborn corpses based on the most recent launch as they entered view. Those landed smack into the advancing shield wall that was pushing forward, but the center of the Warborn line was opening from the back as another group moved in.

"Truffe's about to take a boar's snout!" Davis warned as he pointed towards the far end of the battle, where the Warborn had huge numbers of reserves waiting to enter the fray. "We need to reinforce him, now!"

He was right: the boar's snout was a Warborn tactic of decision, and fit their suicidal worship all too well. A reinforced center that advanced forward through the ranks in a triangle. Those at the tip almost always died, not unlike the forlorn hopes that the legions employed to break fortified castles. Only the most disciplined of formations could resist such an attack as if it worked, they were broken apart. And with all those reserves lying in wait, even if many of them were simple marauders or militia with only spear and shield, against a broken enemy? More than enough.

But that was not all - the Warborn were not attacking with some simple batch of thugs or an urban garrison. They brought their combined arms to bear, just as the Blackstones had in the army coming up. Archers had taken up positions wherever there were rises to give them some vague ability to see the Blackstone rear through the clash of arms, allowing them to shoot past the melee fight. A dangerous tactic, and Stone bet they already had killed a dozen or two of their own by undershooting. But short of a concentrated volley into their backs, who would notice in the confusion? The Warborn catapults were more obvious, but they were overshooting fairly consistently. Which meant that the shots that came short landed smack into the Blackstones trying to hold the front.

Yet though the supporting archers and catapults were what many Warborn armies used, this one was backed by a sight that turned Stone's blood hot. Those goddamn annoying and impossible to catch horsemen. Marauders on unarmored horses or ponies simply riding around the battle to throw in axes, javelins, darts, and anything else they could get. Normally, a held ground of foot archers could at least mitigate the threat - unarmored horse did poorly against a crossbow bolt to skull, after all.

But those foot archers, if they weren't taking catapult rocks, were dealing with berserkers and other overly aggressive light foot that managed to get around the battle and were interfering, keeping them from shooting simply because, well… _you_ try to reload a crossbow while someone's trying to fuck you with an axe. Thus the marauder horsemen were free to be a thorn in everyone's side.

"God damn it," Stone growled as he saw black and orange heraldry towards the western side of the battle - trying to chase more of the horsemen. "Guy took the bait!"

Light cavalry could outrun heavily armored knights easily - but often had trouble wounding them. But they didn't need to, even if it took a bunch of them off the field, it also kept the Blackstones from deploying their greatest arm of decision against the Warborn. All in all? Even if every one of those marauder horsemen died, if they kept the cavalry from intervening in the battle it was a trade in the Warborn's favor.

Cross understood that clearly, growling as he slapped his visor down. "So be it. Rufus," he called to the chief ranger, "get word back to the main host. Tell Apollyon we need our army here, _now_. The entire Bloodtalon Clan is here!"

"Sir!" the ranger dipped his head and ran back as the Lawbringer hefted his poleaxe.

"Sir Stone, take the Warden, Sir Alberic and your men into the center and shore it up! Dame Vorena, follow them and clear our siege engines! Sir Davis, you're with me, we're going to clear the archers on the right! MOVE!"

They immediately split up to get to the relevant contingents, and soon Stone was in front of familiar faces. His brothers and sisters of the Iron Legion, now wearing new heraldry but still the same veterans who faced this kind of threat two months ago. Alberic called them into formation, standing at the forefront of the contingent.

"Alright lads, listen up!" he bellowed towards them, "We don't have time for speeches, and I always hated 'em anyways!"

A few chuckled, but most kept to their discipline.

"We're going to wade right into the center of this while Lord Cross gets the right flank in order - the Blackstone Legion pulled our asses out of the fire at Harrowgate, today we're going to return the favor! The Warborn know they've lost the war, but those fuckers don't know how to quit any more than we do!"

" _Damn straight!"_

" _Harrowgate!"_

" _Let's end this today!"_

" _They'll all die today!"_

" _Yeah!"_

Stone smiled. They probably heard the mutterings of the battle ahead - hard not to hear the sheer scale of the bloodshed - but they were eager. Now it was time to bring it home.

"Tell me boys," he shouted to start an old call-and-response that Kline had used years ago. "Who's got claim on Ashfeld?!"

" _We do!"_ they shouted.

"I can't hear you! _Who has claim_!?"

" _WE DO!"_ they shouted again, even Joy adding her voice to the cry.

Stone smiled. "Now let's go and take it! FOLLOW ME!"

Moving at pace was always dangerous when a battle was engaged: most infantry gained their strength from good order and formation. Without it, horsemen - even those unarmored pony riders - could ride circles around them to kill in detail. But as the Warborn had taught them countless times, a countercharge with high spirits could be devastating. But more than that, they needed to move quickly to get into the battle.

Many of the Warborn had been highly aggressive, taking the risk of their own archers and artillery hitting them to prove themselves. It was pretty obvious to see why as Stone dealt with his first opponent: a young northman - God, how old was he, sixteen maybe? - with little more than his clothes, spear and shield, and a metal cap. None of it did him and good as the spear was lodged in the gut of a Blackstone archer that had tried to fight his opponent off, and Stone simply swung up his flail to crush the young lad's arm and shatter the bones in it, bashing him aside to be trampled as they moved on.

His second, a berserker swinging near drunkenly and dangerous to all around. Stone caught his twin hatchets with his shield, allowing Joy to shove her longsword into his back.

"ARROWS!" Alberic warned, and Stone put his shield up as he heard the familiar whistling. Joy ducked neck to him as they fell loosely over them - they were just starting to enter the Nordic archers' maximum range.

The third opponent Stone had to deal with, and the fourth, were a pair of huscarls who were fighting over a rather blinged out corpse. Probably some young hersir who had more courage than sense, or crazy enough to lead such an attack. Stone took one while Alberic took the second as Joy had broken ahead to help a scorpion crew deal with their attackers.

The first huscarl brought a shorter claymore down overhead, forcing Stone to dodge to the side to deflect it properly with his shield, but as he did he started to swing the flail, getting a lighter hit on the man's torso. Blocked by the mail beneath the tartan of a pattern across the sea he wore, he tried to elbow Stone only to come up short, and the flail still had motion.

Swinging it up as the huscarl recovered, he aimed for an uppercut. His opponent managed to catch the chain, but failed to parry it properly. A whack to the head from the flail did the rest and Stone followed it up with a shield bash to ensure his skull had been fatally cracked.

Glancing around to keep his situational awareness, Stone saw that Alberic had already ran over his opponent, disarming him and crushing through the shield enough to pull the man to the ground, then stomped on his back hard enough to break it. Another Viking tried to stab the Lawbringer with his spear, only for the light weapon to snap at the end of the shaft against the plate armor.

Whacking that poor sop across the back with his flail, Stone felt himself smirking a bit as Alberic came around. "Watch your back, Alberic!"

"What?" the Lawbringer asked. Probably didn't hear him with his helmet and the din of battle.

"Wa-"

" _Valhalla!"_

Stone stopped as he heard the yell he was utterly _sick_ of hearing in battle as another Warborn hurled herself at him. Almost sighing, Stone dropped behind his shield, letting her catch the metal rim of it with her axe only for Alberic to impale her through the ribs with the spike of his weapon, tugging out and leaving a hole where Stone was pretty sure bone was. He finished her off swinging his flail upwards from below. If a huge spiked ball crushing her throat didn't kill her, her head snapping back harder than a decapitating long drop hanging did. The head stayed on though… mostly.

Glancing around again, Stone saw that Joy had managed to catch up with him again. "The frontline's wavering!" she warned before they were interrupted by another arrow volley. This time, Joy just grabbed the fallen Viking's round shield to take cover behind, holding her longsword one handed for the moment.

As that volley ended, Stone glanced at her partial plate. "May want to keep the shield, Warden, you don't have full plate!"

"I fight better without one," she admitted as she glanced at it, as if reconsidering her remark. But if she was, that was cut off as a boulder smashed into a nearby ballista, sending splinters everywhere as the crew manning it cried out. Stone couldn't see if they survived or not as the impact kicked lots of dust into the air.

"Damn it, we need to find the commander!" Joy cursed.

"Not hard," Stone answered before being cut off by another marauder charging towards them. Joy blocked it, somewhat unwieldy as she used the longsword to deflect the blow one-handed, and Stone brought his flail down along the young man's spine as he was turned away by the blow.

"Just find the knight fat enough to be a Shugoki!" he finished as he took another glance. The Iron Legionnaires had almost fought their way into the main melee, and not a moment too soon. The Warborn were about to break the center entirely, mostly being held back by a pretty easy to see sight in the center of the formation. It was hard to miss tower shields when they weren't too far ahead, especially when the user was also quite huge and had a large one-handed mace.

"There he is - Iron Legion, hold the center!" he shouted before charging, letting out a battlecry so the Warborn knew who exactly they were fighting. _"Harrowgate!"_

The battlecry was echoed as the other veterans of the Iron Legion charged in to take up positions in the shield wall. It had the desired effect, the Warborn that had broken to the fore were briefly distracted as they realized just _who_ the reinforcements were, and were pushed back in the initial impact of the charge as the Blackstones pushed with their newfound allies. Vorena's contingent followed them up, mopping up what they had left behind and shifting towards the left flank.

"'bout fucking time!" the Blackstone Warlord holding the center shouted as he deflected a blow with his steel gauntlets before simply crushing his attacker with his mace. "We've got the whole Bloodtalon Clan here!"

"Of course we do!" Stone shot back as the two commanders held in the second ranks. "Cross is working on the right side, we just have to hold!"

"Easier said than done!" Beelzebul shot back, only to bash a Warborn warrior in the face with his tower shield. She hit the ground unconscious, or even dead. "They keep hurling in fresh troops!"

Yeah, that would do it. Especially as while there were a number of lightly armed marauders in the mix, the core of the forces pushing them had proper wargear. Maille, both of Warborn make and stolen from various legions, proper arm guards and boots… well, some could be confused for legionnaires if not for the fact they tended to wear Nordic style nasal helmets and way too much facial hair.

But it was too late to fall back - with the din of battle and the sheer confusion given how many Warborn had managed to get around the flanks, if they tried to outright fall back they would be cut down. Maybe they would be able to save the bulk, but they needed _something_ to hit the Warborn, or at least distract them long enough…

Turning suddenly as an attacker that managed to push through, Stone was ready to defend. In close quarters like this his flail was not quite as advantageous, but unlike what inexperienced burghers often thought shield walls were not every man standing so close they could not move. Even if they were using spears or pikes (especially pikes) they still needed some room to employ their weapons. But in this case, though their shield wall was holding, it was also losing cohesion if only by the sheer weight of Warborn coming in. And the Warborn were hitting with a lot more than just mass. The battle was going to break down into a bunch of individual fights soon enough.

But when they did, he just hoped they had the rest of the army to fall back to. Glancing back he realized it might be prudent to abandon the artillery - it wasn't doing them much good and they hadn't expected the Warborn to send their entire army out so soon. Someone had outfoxed them.

XXXXX

"More horsemen. Great," Holden sighed as another marauder horseman rode towards him, weapon in hand. What that fool was thinking was beyond the Lawbringer, if only because he knew the Warborn's cavalry had no ethos of infantry being inferior. Then again, even a shorter spear could deliver the strike of a lance if the user didn't mind splinters tearing their hand to pieces as they struck, or risking a longer polearm getting the first hit.

So he held his guard, letting his opponent charge in as he kept his awareness, then sidestepped the short spear and struck with the hammer end of his poleaxe. The blow crushed the horse's front right leg and as the Lawbringer spun with the strike, he saw the horse collapse and send the rider flying off only to be crushed as another horse was taken out by a Blackstone spearman.

A blow shook him as he turned, coming face to face with another marauder on foot. Wasting no time, he shoved with both hands, knocking the man back and following it up with a quick jab to the face. One more spearman dead. Next target.

It was work he was long familiar with - clear one of the flanks so it could at least hold steady, preventing the center from being struck on that side. And in this case, it was allowing the Blackstone archers to reorganize and begin returning the volleys that were still coming in. Friendly hits were inevitable as arrows fell short, but an arrow that fell short was one without the speed to hurt a man in armor. And in a desperation - and he did not need a pair of ravens flying overhead to see that it was - the occasional miss was acceptable.

"Davis, the horsemen are coming back!" he warned as he made his way to the contingent leader reorganizing the broken contingent of archers.

"I see them!" Davis called back before turning to a trumpeter. "Form a spear wall!"

As he worked on that and the hornblower played the familiar pattern, Holden turned to the ongoing skirmish. They were clearing this side out, but he knew it was a losing proposition: there was just too many Warborn on the field, and they had attacked in combined arms, with the left flank unreinforced save for, maybe, Vorena pushing in that direction by her own initiative. At best, they would hold until Apollyon arrived. Maybe.

The Warborn light horse aborted their charge, turning away so they could throw their javelins into the formation and flee. The shields of the spear wall - and the spears themselves - interfered with the volley, but he knew they would cycle the attacks until the spear wall exhausted itself, tried to attack back, or other Warborn were able to get around the fixed troops. Holden could only work on the flank he was on for so long.

Davis knew it as well, making his way over to his liege by cutting through a marauder that Holden hadn't noticed, at least until the foe suddenly had a sword in his back.

"We need reinforcements," the other knight pointed out as he tugged his sword clear.

"I know," Holden answered as he took stock of the battlefield out of habit - a good habit too, as it warned him of the next volley of arrows. With full plate, he was able to simply look down and let the arrows snap against his armor.

"Damn those archers…" Davis continued as he growled. "Guy's probably still got his head up his ass chasing down the horsemen when we need him charging flanks."

"Likely, but he's too far for us to signal." Even though with his position he was, barely, able to see Guy's cavalry in the distance, between the din of battle and the heavy cavalry's thundering hooves a recall would go unheard.

Before Davis could answer, there was another shout about incoming artillery and Holden turned to see it - plate armor was godly against arrows, but he didn't want to be anywhere beneath a falling boulder. Or near the impact, really: the shockwave could be enough to knock a man out cold.

Or, as he saw a dame in partial plate pushing a dazed legionnaire out of the way of an incoming boulder, take out any woman.

XXXXX

They said the battlefield was merciless, with no quarter and no escape. Coughing as her head was ringing and vision utterly blurry from the near-miss of that catapult strike, Joyeuse flipped her visor up just to get some air into her again - she needed to get her situational awareness back…

Her vision and hearing came back as she was looking down, trying to push herself up only to hear a snort. A Bloodtalon Huscarl, sneering down at her with his round shield and hand axe, winding up for a fatal-

Suddenly, he was knocked aside and ragdolled away as a burly knight smashed into him shield first, and a legionnaire pounced on the man, stabbing him into an unrecognizable mess with a seax.

"You alright?"

Joy looked and saw who had just saved her - easy to recognize: how many other knights had skulls glued onto their helmets?

"Yeah, I am," she said as he offered a hand, pulling her up. "Thanks, Stone."

"Someone else owes you a thank you as well," he said, gesturing with his flail before another hirdmen came only to be blocked by the Conqueror's heater shield and head mostly taken off by a follow up flail uppercut.

It took a moment for Joy to make the connection, to recognize the bushy brown beard or the flail he had. Of course, the fading scars from a beating she inflicted should have been the more obvious tell.

"Richard," she growled as it surprised her. "You alright?"

"I think so," he answered, somewhat slowly before they were distracted from it by another push of the Warborn. The battlefield was not the place for rivalries on the same side, and they were thrust into the melee yet again.

A melee they were losing: even if they had yet to rout, they all knew it was a failing battle. At this point as far as Joy was concerned, the only reason to continue holding out was to try and fix as many of the Warborn as possible for the main army to attack. Even then, they _needed_ reinforcements - even if it was just light cavalry to force the Warborn to split their attention and get those god damned marauder horsemen out of their hair.

Then the Warborn started to crack the center formation again, once more forcing their way into the shield wall with their own. Joy pounced on the gaps as she could, but in the middle of the melee her ability to maneuver was limited - she could only try to shore up a few of them. Where she did they were plugged quickly, but elsewhere… the formation was coming apart.

Which meant that they either needed reinforcements now, or they had to start to fall back and risk getting run down in a rout. Beelzebul made the call.

"Fall back! Fall back along the road! FALL BACK!"

They all began to pull back, and Joy found herself in the fore as one of those less worn out by the battle. But even those eager to get into the fight still had to move back, if only to try and maintain some sense of cohesion.

Even then, the fact others were falling back had a part of Joy telling her to move faster within the retreat. She suppressed it - the troops needed to see valor to inspire them - but the desire remained as they gave ground. And only became more noticeable when a large feral man with twin hatchets pushed his way past the advancing shield wall.

" _The Warden is mine!"_ the Berserker bellowed, charging forward and leaping forward with both axes.

Dodging back just narrowly far enough, Joy instantly understood what was happening. They were trying to complete the break. It was Harrowgate all over again: Find the last symbols of resistance, crush them to rout the bulk troops.

And she was in the center of it, as was Stone now that he was locked into a battle with a Valkyrie that had pushed through at the same time trying to isolate him.

XXXXXX

"The center's collapsing!"

"Because the left is _gone_!" Holden answered as Davis pointed out what was happening. They were breaking and the Warborn's champions were coming in for the most glorious of kills - the warriors who stood and fought as they hoped to do.

"Get the formation moving back!" the Lawbringer bellowed, "Keep it together, that's our only chance!"

"Aye sir!" Davis said as he turned, bellowing orders that were played by the hornblower as the knight stood at the fore. While the newer troops to the fray still had fight left, the battle as a whole was hanging on personal valor inspiring them to not break and run. Only a fool underestimated morale - and right now, it was all the Blackstone Legion had to hold their ground.

The Vikings understood this clearly, and whoever was in command had specifically held their champions in reserve as a Valkyrie was charging into the fray, leaping out from the shield wall to attack him. He managed to deflect her battle axe away from the joint she was aiming at, but it meant he had to take her buckler to the face, disorienting him.

_Watch her movement,_ he reminded himself: he had been in this situation before, and however dazed he was the battle was still ongoing. He stopped a follow up strike of the axe, catching it with the pole and locking the two weapons together as it was stuck in the wooden shaft. Almost grinning, he shoved forward so the back of the axe head hit her in the face.

If that Warborn woman had been wearing a typical nasal helmet, her teeth would have been knocked out. As it is, she had a proper visor looted from some knight based on the cross shaped air holes. It took the hit and she let go of the stuck axe, grabbing a seax from her belt as he shook the axe loose of his polearm.

The two faced off momentarily as the fight continued around them - both had to turn to defend as others tried to intervene, but they kept their focus on each other.

" _Come at me!"_ the Lawbringer bellowed at her in her own language, _"I am the Vengeance of Ashfeld!"_

She didn't take the bait, snorting before she moved ahead with the buckler raised so he couldn't see where the seax was. Clever and proper use of a shield, and it kept him on the defensive as she struck - the shield came out first like a punch, then as the lighter shield deflected off she tried to get the seax towards his left armpit.

Good target, his mail was easier to penetrate than his thick armored plates. The only problem was he had been knocked back too far, leaving her arm exposed as swung the poleaxe as hard as he could from left to right before him. A loud _crunch_ echoed and the Valkyrie screamed. Her arm was broken.

It wasn't what he intended to do - he meant to deflect the long knife - but it worked. Yet capitalizing on it had to wait: as he did that, a huscarl leapt in against him and he had to turn. He took the blow against his pauldron, then rammed the butt of his poleaxe against the Huscarl's chest, followed with his whole bodyweight. That knocked him back, allowing the Lawbringer to defend as they started to swarm him…

But as a Berserker was about to leap up, he was cut off as horns sounded and they turned to the southeast - amidst the smoke and blood, they could make out fresh Blackstone forces by the thin banners held above a large contingent of horse at least two hundred strong.

"Merihem," Holden smiled before turning to the new attacker and ramming him in the neck with his poleaxe, shoving the splinters from his deflections into the man's throat before following it up with a stab to the gut with the poleaxe's spike.

Howling as his torso was bleeding the Berserker threw himself forward, hatchet and knife awhirl. Cross barely got his poleaxe into position in time, and still had to take some of the strikes with his gauntlets, but he kept them back long enough for a lance to skewer the Berserker in the head. That demilancer rode on past, his partial armor keeping him at speed as another came to a halt nearby.

She stopped her horse, a lightly armored destrier with the main metal being a headplate to stop arrows while the rest was simple padding. Her armor was somewhat lighter than most knights - full brigandine, but while her legs were covered in steel greaves only her right arm was fully armored. It was the only one that needed to be, as she had a kite shield to protect her left arm. Her kettle helmet concealed all but her face, mostly because of the mail coif she had beneath it.

"The main army's coming!" the other Blackstone warlord shouted as she looked at him, "You just need to hold long enough for them to attack!"

"We'll need more than your light cavalry for that, Merihem!"

"I know, Orobas' knights are right behind me!"

The Lawbringer exhaled sharply, but at this point he could deal with that arrogant zealot being smug. "See if you can get some men to Lord Guy as well, he ran off after…"

"We saw, already sent!" She turned as a Warborn spearman charged up, but Holden saw it first and put himself in the way. Cavalry was devastating, but while it was still like how Merihem had stopped to talk shop, it was vulnerable.

"Get moving, we'll hold!" he shouted and she took off, her horse galloping over the dead and dying as he disposed of that spearman. She probably killed a couple on both sides just because of the horse landing on them, but there wasn't room to check.

Though Apollyon's plan had been to provoke the enemy, ideally to be engaged in the open, they had grossly underestimated just how hard they would hit in the opener. Whose mistake that was could be settled later, though: for now he had to deal with a pair of hirdmen with bills advancing on him.

Sighing internally, he thrust himself back into the chaos.

XXXXXX

Deflecting another strike from the Berserker, Joy felt herself tiring. They were past the point of being able to hold on, yet an outright retreat would just see them run down. Damned either way.

As if answering that realization, more horns bellowed and both she and her opponent stopped to look at what was coming just for a moment, before they were back at it. But for Joy, it sent her smiling even though she was tired. Apollyon's reinforcements had arrived, a concentration of force coming down the center of the battlefield with other troops on the wings. Exactly what they needed.

Parrying the next blow from the top and bringing her sword down with both hands, she dug into the Berserker's shoulder and he staggered back. Other Warborn grabbed him, pulling him back as he wanted to go forward despite being too wounded. But it gave Joy the room she needed, darting back between the broken siege engines that now acted as a barrier between the two centerlines of the battlefield.

The Blackstone Legionnaires reinforcing them were moving to allow their comrades to fall back, creating channels in their formation. Joy held her position at the end of one, and soon enough there was another knight at her side, announcing her presence by simply cutting down a Huscarl in the blink of an eye.

"Still at the front, I see," the knight remarked as the blood splattered onto her black helmet.

"Yes, master," Joy answered quickly - and hoarsely. The battle was taking its toll. Apollyon strode in front of her, taking care of the next attacker as the lines clashed.

"Recover, then join me on the frontline. Today we win this war."

Joy simply bowed her head and allowed the momentum to go past her as other foot knights - Apollyon's chosen retinue - filled the gap caused by the siege engines, allowing the troops behind to segment off around the engines knowing their flanks were guarded.

Flipping her visor up and bending over, Joy found herself using Dusk like a crutch as the exertion had taken its toll on her. She wouldn't have long as the battle was ongoing, but she needed to get as much back as she could in the short respite.

She wasn't alone - the troops that had been fighting earlier had also dropped back behind their fresh reinforcements, trying to recover as well. Stone was regrouping his men, and Lord Truffe was doing the same, though they were moving further to the rear as they regrouped.

"Hey, Warden!"

She turned, almost lifting her sword out of instinct before realizing it wasn't a threat. A legionnaire with a flail and a bushy black beard.

"Legionnaire," she answered with a quick nod. "Are you hurt?"

"No more than you," he added. "Though uh… thank you. For getting me out of the way."

She just shrugged, the weight of her shoulder guards causing the drop back to be sharpy than she expected. "Don't worry about it."

"Right, well…" a shouted command cut him off. "Later, Dame?"

Joy gave him a quick nod as he hurried off to his commander as Leon was regrouping what was left of his troops… again. _Poor man,_ she thought, though she wasn't sure if it was the knight or the legionnaire. And now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen either of his comrades either from that day. What were their names; Krassus, and one more…

_Not now,_ she told herself, but as she was momentarily idle her mind could not help but wander.

Still, after another couple moments, she felt confident enough in being able to return to the front. She was still a bit winded, but she could fight. Slapping down her visor, she made her way forward.

But as she did, she had to wonder: was this purely a battle of brute force, or did the legions' warlord have something in mind? Now that she thought about it, they had been overly aggressive with deploying their artillery.

XXXX

The Warborn had a good commander, a Jarl who understood engineering. Naturally, Mercy was going to kill him and his artillery crews.

She was not alone - and was part of just one of several groups of attackers. They had been sent ahead, but told to allow the others to draw the Warborn's fury. Once the battle was joined, they would creep around the battlefield, or however they had to, in order to attack targets of opportunity in the rear. In particular, they were to take out siege engines and commanders.

Mercy's team, a few bandits-turned-legionnaires, were almost in position as they crept through the underbrush. Their target was pretty well positioned in terms of stopping an attack along the road as expected: some swift fortifications in the form of a small trench with spikes and channels for men to move around. But that was the limit of the fortification, and it had none around the sides or back.

That included the cluster of trees they had managed to get into. Stalking forward, Mercy had her blades tied down again, and instead had brought something more arcane to open with. A small canister she had mixed together the night before when Apollyon told her about her role in the coming battle.

The two guards facing them were on alert, since with a battle ongoing they weren't going to be chatting about the weather. This meant that when Mercy sparked the small canister, they immediately were looking for the source, and as they saw it thrown at them they brought their shields up, causing the canister to bounce off one round shield.

_Let there be light,_ Mercy mused as it went off at their feet instead. They had been looking down wondering what had been thrown at them, and at such close range they were not only blinded by the flash, but also the powder within searing their faces as it exploded.

That was the signal and the legionnaires with her rushed forward. They were much more lightly equipped than usual - most wore gambeson rather than mail and brigandine to keep noise to a minimum, and none brought a shield larger than a buckler. Most of the Nordic catapult crews were even less equipped, leaving Mercy to suspect various townsmen pressed into the duty to free up warriors for the frontline.

Drawing both her arming sword and dagger, Mercy moved towards her target, stopping only to quickly kill the one crewman dumb enough to attack her head on.

" _I'll take care of the Peacekeeper!"_ the Jarl bellowed as he quickly picked up his own shield and drew a sword - a pattern welded gladius. Typical Warborn equipment, as was his nasal helmet and the mail hauberk he wore.

As he had his round shield in front of her, Mercy dodged to the side without attacking, letting the Jarl make the first move. A quick slash that she managed to stop, catching the sword with her dagger to force it upwards.

She had a few options to retaliate: she could try a light probing strike herself, though with his shield it would be trivial to block it. Option two was a stronger blow, to leave him open. Or option three, as they circled each other, was to use the environment that both combatants were trying to keep aware of as both their eyes darted side to side to keep situational awareness.

Option three was most efficient. As one of the catapult crew was knocked back by a buckler strike from an attacking legionnaire, Mercy darted to the side and grabbed him with her left arm. A small splash of blood hit her gambeson as she cut him due to the dagger in her hand, but that was irrelevant to the current fight.

What was relevant was how she released him so he was knocked into the Jarl, staggering him despite the fact that the Jarl used his shield to redirect the man past him. That crewman was out of the fight, landing head first into the catapult, but it created the opening Mercy desired.

She darted forward again, bringing her arming sword on a downward slash. The sword blow bit into the mail as it slid down, but failed to fatally penetrate. Her follow up stab with the dagger, however, was far more effective at penetrating the tightly interconnected metal rings. It was not a fatal wound, but as she pulled the dagger from his back she had drawn blood. He whirled around to face her again, scowling as his braided red beard flopped around.

He attacked immediately, a wide and powerful swing. Mercy knew better than to try and stop it, dodging out of the way of the attack by ducking under the sword swing. A little too close, she had to admit as her arming sword sparked along her opponent's blade, but it did the job and she followed it with another sharp stab to his sides.

Unfortunately he was too quick bringing his arm back, staggering her briefly but he was also in pain, allowing the Peacekeeper to get her bearing again. The attack had gone well as the other legionnaires were busy killing the last of the crew. It was time to end it.

She moved forward, grabbing his shield as she moved around the side. He headbutted her, a loud _clang_ echoing as he struck the helmet she wore and she was certain her hood was torn by the blow, but he wasn't able to follow it up. Not bad for a Jarl who won more on his intelligence than martial strength.

Still, he was slowed. Baiting with what appeared to be an overhead slash, she stopped the strike for another stab with her offhand weapon before bringing her arming sword up, completing the circle.

Momentarily blinded by the shield hitting her helmet, Mercy staggered back as the Jarl's gaping chest wounds were bleeding out, and his sword arm was moving heavily. Smirking to herself, Mercy ran forward again, caught the sword with both her blades, and disarmed him by striking him in the bleeding gut with her below. He went straight to the ground with that, and Mercy walked up and shoved her arming sword into the back of his neck, around the end of his spine.

Another mission complete as her accompanying legionnaires had dealt with the crews.

"Ma'am," one said as she strode up to her. "We've secured the catapults."

Mercy did not answer as she turned to look towards the battle. Apollyon was cutting her path through the middle, but the Warborn still had enough mass on the field and confidence from having beaten back Beelzebul and Cross' contingents. They did not know that their leader had been assassinated as they were locked in with the main army, and what the other flanking teams were up to was unknown at the moment.

So, how to communicate her success over the clanging of metal, screams of dead and dying, and everyone worth worrying about having helmets on?

One look at the catapults, and Mercy had her answer. "Man their catapults and target their rear shield walls," she ordered.

"Er, we're not exactly trained…"

Mercy sighed internally, looking around. One catapult had been ready to fire when they attacked, and the crew had not been able to release it. Striding over, she looked at the side and noted the inscriptions on it that seemed to match positions as it was pulled back.

Sheathing her blades, Mercy knew it was too dangerous to try and turn the catapult while it was ready to release. So she pulled the lever, and watched as the roughly rounded stone shot overhead.

It landed in the formation, too close to the front line to be sure if it had hit friend or foe. But it gave them range.

"Load them, then pull them back to somewhere before this numeral," the Peacekeeper repeated. "If you do not want to hurt our comrades, two or three intervals should do it."

"Uh, catapults into a melee? At this range?" another of the legionnaires asked. "That's…"

"If you want the Warborn to be blissfully unaware of our victory until the battle begins to turn, then all we have to do is wait for the next rider."

The legionnaires glanced at each other, until one shrugged and moved towards the catapult and went for one of the stones they were launching. "Come on, give me a hand!"

They set to work, and after the initial volley Mercy set to keeping them protected and watch. Soon enough, she saw rocks crashing into the rear ranks of the Warborn formation. The horns that sounded told her what she needed to know.

_A cease fire signal,_ she noted as the pattern kept repeating. The Warborn were yet unaware that their siege engines were lost. Soon enough, however, particularly as the rest of their artillery had fallen silent, the pattern changed.

XXXXX

The Warborn were giving as good as they got it, even as they clashed with the main Blackstone army. By this point, the Blackstones had reinforced and Cross had joined the center, briefly meeting with Apollyon during a short lull as the Blackstones gained ground before joining in the melee.

Joy had kept to her position in this time, now fighting alongside her direct commander and the Blackstone Legion's overall leader. Exactly where a knight looking to prove her valor belonged, even if she was finding that she should have kept that shield she grabbed earlier given the nature of the melee, and lacking Apollyon's full plate armor.

Another boulder crashed into the shieldwall before them, falling shorter than previous ones. Now that Joy thought about it, it was too persistent to be the occasional miss…

"Good!" Apollyon laughed as the Warborn horns changed pattern. "Push forward - break the lines while they waver!"

_Guy's cavalry would be perfect_ , Joy thought as she considered, but if they were acting on it she was too far from where the cavalry were to tell as she kept focusing on her part to push forward in the formation. At this point it became less conscious fighting and more instinct, particularly with the press of men and weapons alike.

Still, she could hear desperate cries from the Warborn. Words like betrayal were being flung bout. Maybe, it was hard to hear over the din, but the results spoke soon enough. The Blackstones pushed hard once again, driving into the Warborn formation that suddenly felt a lot lighter.

It was soon apparent why as they finally managed to break into it and Joy pushed past: the Warborn were beginning to fall back, horns echoing a retreat!

"They're routing!" she heard Cross bellow. "Run them down, don't let them regroup!"

"Forward!" Apollyon's order echoed as well, similar shouts ranging across the entire Blackstone army.

As they pushed forward, Joy could see other goings on. Lord Guy's heavy cavalry had come back to the fray, either abandoning their pursuit of the marauder horsemen or Merihem's own raiding cavalry had taken over the chase. The heavily armored knights and their steeds plowed into the now routing Warborn ranks, hacking them down with their hand weapons as most had broken their lances in previous charges. To the right flank, the same was happening with lighter horse and she saw Sir Davis' banner carrier in the front.

She heard metal plates behind her and turned, Apollyon and Cross striding forward as they also were assessing the battle.

"Holden," Apollyon started as she turned to look at the Lawbringer. "Take Stone's contingent to secure the catapults and relieve our rangers. Get our own engineers there and send them to Tholen."

"Yes, master," he answered as he bowed his head. "Warden, you're with me."

"No," Apollyon held a hand up. "Warden, do you see the catapult site on that rise?"

Joy turned to look and saw the one she was pointing at. Between the smoke it looked like it was on the rise towards the farming village, with its back against trees. "I see it. Do you want me to go there immediately?"

"Yes. Mercy and her team should be there. Make sure they survive, a Peacekeeper is a warrior I do not intend to lose."

Joy bowed her head. "Yes, master."

With the battle turned against the Warborn and the Vikings retreating towards Tholen in full retreat, it was fairly easy even if Joy had to move with the current of pursuing troops, but soon enough she found the rise. Some of the retreating Vikings had gone there, and there was a battle ensuing on the top of the hill even as other Blackstones were chasing Vikings there.

_They must have gotten caught,_ Joy realized as she strode forward despite her aching body and blood soaked gear. One more push, at least for now.

It was easy enough to find Mercy: Peacekeepers in the battlefield were a hard miss once caught in the middle of it. She was holding her own, but her light armor already had cuts in it as she was trying to fall back, to get room to maneuver as she lacked the armor for a full scale melee.

Mercy had managed to roll over one marauder, cutting his throat as she came down, only to come face to face with a hirdman who bashed her in the face with his shield, catching her helmet with the round boss. As Mercy rolled out of the way of the follow up spear jab, Joy leapt in, knocking him aside.

He keeled over, a sword suddenly in his stomach as he had tripped over Mercy and she had been quick on the uptake. Turning to guard against other attackers, the battle was moving on up the road, towards the occupied monastery.

"Are you alright?" the Warden asked as she held a hand out, though the Peacekeeper was already getting back to her feet.

"I am," Mercy answered, with a calm that sent a chill up Joy's spine. It was like nothing had happened.

"Apollyon sent me. What happened to the others in your team?"

The Peacekeeper paused, glancing towards a pair of bloodied corpses and another lightly armored legionnaire whose arm was hanging on by little. "Wounded. The Warborn archers retreated earlier than expected."

Joy felt her gut churning as she considered that Mercy was likely to be the one to put her out of her misery. "If you need to, so be it, but Apollyon wants to make sure you survived."

"Of course. Take a moment to recover as I deal with my duty."

She hesitated, but nodded and allowed Mercy to walk over towards the legionnaires that had been in her squad… and, for the one that survived with her mostly gone arm, watched as Mercy finished the poor woman off.

_It's hard to see that as mercy,_ Joyeuse thought, her mind wandering in its exhaustion. Then again, which was better: to bleed out slowly of infection, or have it over with quickly?

"I'm finished," Mercy said as she strode back. "To Tholen?"

Taking one last look around, Joy nodded.

XXXXXX

All things considered, Stone had to admit he expected the last strike against the Vikings in Ashfled to be more… emphatic. Historical.

Oh, the Warborn tried to put up a fight. Despite having lost their leaders in the previous battle and the confusion of their retreat, they hunkered down in and around the monastery turned pagan temple. But by the time they were able to try and reorganize, the Blackstones had arrived in full force and confident from the earlier victory, despite the mauling almost a quarter of the army took. The Warborn's own siege engines, though relatively primitive compared to what the Blackstones lost earlier, were just what was needed to rattle the surviving northmen.

It started with a bombardment of the monastery gate, crashing it open despite a desperate attempt to reinforce it. Then Apollyon led the charge within, accompanied by some of the best knights the legion had to offer. Stone missed that, but was told to follow them up with his own contingent, to secure the breakthrough they made.

Clearing the monastery had been easy enough, if admittedly bogging down in house-to-house fighting. The Warborn were stubborn, but they were still human. Plenty surrendered as the blood grew, and Stone found himself policing the prisoners in the center of the monastery with the rest of his contingent, as well as survivors from Vorena's contingent while their leader was under medics.

"Look at it," a clean shaven knight from Harrowgate growled as he pointed his sword at the wooden statues erected at the base of a great tree with several old nooses - each stocked with a skeleton in various states of collapse - hanging from it. Before that tree were wooden statues of Odin, Thor, Freya, and other gods the Warborn worshipped.

"Good woodcraft though, Edward," Stone offered as he looked at the knight from Harrowgate. "You have to credit them for that."

"Sure, but do they have to use it to taint consecrated ground?"

"Considering the names our new masters use?"

"Fair point," Edward conceded as he crossed himself. "But this place was still turned wicked by the savages."

Though the idols were larger than men, they were not much more so. Really if anything made it sinister, it was the hanging skeletons. Who were the poor sods that got offered up to the Warborn gods in such a manner?

"Stone, you're alright!"

The two turned as a familiar sight to the former Iron Legionnaires strode towards them. "Joy," Stone smiled, beaming under his helmet. "From God's lips to my ears, you're a sight for sore eyes. I was worried when I didn't see you leaving the chapel," he nodded towards the last building to fall.

"Arm wound," she admitted as she pointed to her right arm, which had been freshly bandaged. "The last of the hersirs did not go quietly, but I should be fine."

"What about the prisoners?" Edward asked, gesturing his sword towards them before resting the flat of the blade against his shoulder. "I think it's time for payback."

"Apollyon is going to address them, that's part of why I came. She's going to address them, and all the contingent leaders not tied down elsewhere are going to be at the front."

"Yeah, we can clear some room."

"You're standing at the front too, Sir Stone."

"Who allowed that?" Edward asked with a snort. "Cross?"

"A-" the Warden stopped herself as she glanced towards the chapel. "Our warlord."

Stone blinked, and Edward pursed his lips for a moment as the sword slowly went back around until he was pointing it towards the cobblestone ground again. "Huh," he admitted before shrugging.

Sorting out the prisoners was easy enough, they simply had to tell them to make room. Apollyon emerged soon enough, as were other contingent leaders like Guy or the Blackstone's highest lords such as Cross or Merihem. But rather than any of them, Apollyon approached Stone as she waited for them all to be assembled.

"Master," Stone said as he bowed.

"Stone," Apollyon answered with a brief nod, resting a hand on the pommel of her sword. "I saw you and your men in the field today. You did well, adapting to the counterattack."

"So, they genuinely outfoxed us?" he asked as he looked back up.

"Partially," Apollyon admitted. "I knew they would try to attack, but I had not anticipated them choosing that ground with the entirety of their army. Yet the ferocity of Beelzebul's men, and those of your contingent, stalled their counterattack. You lead veterans from Harrowgate?"

"Most of them are," he explained. "I also took the duty of leading some of the freelancers and volunteers picked up along the way in southern Ashfeld."

"I see now how you held Harrowgate as long as you did. A bravery uncharacteristic of the Iron Legion, but more than welcome."

Stone found himself scowling, and was glad he had his helmet on. "Warriors come from all sorts, master. You never know until they fight."

"Indeed, there is often a diamond in the rough. You and your men have well earned their place in the Blackstone Legion, but do they desire it? Especially now that the war appears over, will your men continue as warriors, or will they go home?"

"We have a lot to rebuild first, and we both know this war is not over yet." He nodded towards the prisoners. "If nothing else, we have this rabble, but the Warborn will return."

Chuckling, the former Warden nodded. "Good, you have your eyes on the truth. Yes, we have much to do. But for now, take your place as a Conqueror of the Blackstone Legion. You have more than earned the title the Iron Legion gave you."

"Thank you, master."

She nodded him along, and he took his spot in the lineup of commanders and their seconds. The Warborn were cowering on their knees in many cases, others staring defiantly at their captor as they stood before the idols that the Warborn had erected. But that was not on Stone's mind at the moment, but what Apollyon had said: the war was not over.

_Isn't it?_ He wondered, but then he considered. They had beaten an invasion from the north and Ashfeld's colonies, but Valkenheim still stood. The Warborn would be back. But could Ashfeld recover in the meantime? With the colonists being driven out, Ashfeld's northern countryside would be quite empty. Few would emigrate until they were confident the Warborn would not return.

But he had to put those thoughts aside as Apollyon looked at the Warborn, then to her commanders. "I will address them in their language," she said to the Blackstones. "If you need to translate for the warrior next to you, go ahead."

"Do you need me to?" someone next to him whispered and he glanced to his right. He managed to end up next to Joy.

"Nah, I understand Norse," he waved his hand. "Most in Ashfeld speak both languages."

She nodded, and Apollyon finally turned to the prisoners.

"Warborn!" she called to them, "for all you have troubled Ashfeld, at this hour you have failed. A generation of your warriors lay slain across Ashfeld, and now the holiest site your people have in our country has fallen. To most of your kin, I offered two choices: to stay under Blackstone rule, or return to Valkenheim."

The Warborn looked at each other, but other than some mutterings they remained silent. A few legionnaires looked at each other, but they were busy keeping the prisoners secured.

"But this is one land that I cannot make such an offer. So I give you a message to tell your kin in Valkenheim, to tell the Jarl of Wolves in his great hall at Sverngard."

Apollyon turned towards the statue near the center of the arrangement of idols, the one to Thor… and knocked it over. Being built generally to the proportions of a living man and only out of wood, the force of the blow sent it toppling over, crashing into the tree behind it and breaking. It would take men with hammers and time to truly destroy it, but such a sacrilegious act had a dramatic effect as most of the Warborn gasped in horror, some clutching the amulets they wore, and a few tried to charge forward despite being unarmed.

Those poor fools either tripped on the kneeling or sitting captives, or the one man who pushed past the guards - probably a priest by his thick robes - found himself killed by a crossbow bolt to the throat. A Peacekeeper he had not seen before had shot him with a wrist crossbow. Most of the other Blackstone knights and leaders had tensed as the desecration happened, but began to ease as the attempts to break past ended.

Apollyon turned slowly with it as the dust settled. Her face was obscured by her helmet, but even with it Stone could feel the confidence.

"Flee back to your northern lands while you can," Apollyon continued as she pointed at them. "Return to the mountains before the snows set in. Tell your friends, tell your families, tell all the clans that the Blackstone Legion has domain over Ashfeld. Warriors rule here, but not those of your clans or even those of your gods. And they never will, so long as they remain _weak_ like your Jarl was."

The whole monastery courtyard remained silent as Stone felt himself holding his breath, none of the Vikings moved yet.

"Let them go," Apollyon added to the legionnaires, addressing them in Latin. Some of them hesitated, but soon enough they backed off. The Warborn took the message, and soon enough streamed out of the gate under wary eyes.

And as they did, Stone let the weight of his armor pull his shoulders down. It was done. There would be some holdouts, and he knew there were probably already bands of deserting Warborn eager to fight and die in Ashfeld rather than flee, but for all intents and purposes they were nothing.

Ashfeld had driven out the Warborn invasion after half a bloody century, under the banner of a legion that had not only arisen in Ashfeld, but was now recognized by the rest of the legions as Ashfeld's rightful defenders. Was this a war-torn kingdom's return to being more than a buffer for the rest of the realms? What else would happen?

_Forget that,_ he told himself. Dreaming like that was well and good, but they still had holdouts to mop up. That would busy him enough, easily until winter if the rest of the legion did not stick around Ashfeld's northern reaches. Afterwards, though?

Well, he could get to it when he had the time. For now, victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, writing this I came to feel that the battles are less interesting than the character interaction. Still, I hope everyone got their chance to shine, even the neckbeards, and that it was enjoyable for what it is.


	11. Shards of Past and Present

"And here it is," Cross explained as they crossed a large stone bridge over the Ashford River, "The Shard: Fortress of the Blackstone Legion."

Joy felt taken aback as she looked towards the castle. They still had the good part of a mile between them and the fortress itself, but even with that she could see just how large the castle was. Large enough that it looked more like a mountain that had towers and crenellations than a castle. Not many fortresses could claim such a size: Harrowgate was likely the only other one in Ashfeld, and even then it had more width than height despite being built into a mountainside. And to be fair, this fortress _was_ built into a mountain.

Banners flew from the towers, most prominently those with the Blackstone Legion's symbol but also in the breeze if distinctly lower were an assortment of other flags. Usually when such banners flew it represented allies garrisoned or those staying as guests, but Cross had mentioned keeping the banners of previous owners as a reminder of what the Blackstone Legion overcame. Trophies, though Joy preferred to imagine that it was a sign of respect to former opponents.

The area around the fortress was, as with almost every castle, covered in farmland wherever there was land arable enough. Save for roads and several ponds that drained off the main river, every acre had been covered with crops that were being harvested by those men and women who lived in and around the fortress. They had passed more farms on the way, in forest clearings where there was suitable land for smaller homesteads, and Joy was sure there was more to the east past the fortress.

"Impressive," she finally said. "Was this a sanctuary?"

"Centuries ago," Cross explained, urging his horse on to lead the dozen strong retinue to the castle.

"It fell out of Iron Legion control and then dynasties changed regularly," another knight added. Dame Sybilla, who though usually serving with Lord Guy's cavalry was actually in Cross' direct service. "The last one fell to the Blackstones when he tried to force the founders' fealty."

The Lawbringer simply shrugged. "Apollyon outwitted him. Then again, there aren't many who can navigate the labyrinth in the depths…"

Joy simply nodded. A castle was an incredible defense that allowed small garrisons to hold out against far larger armies. A sanctuary was a fortress that had been strong enough to survive the cataclysm a thousand years ago, and had been the garrison posts of the Iron Legion. Yet even with such walls, if the defenders were unable to keep the perimeter all it took was a few well placed knights to doom it all.

In the quiet ride save for the horses ambling, she allowed her mind to wander a bit. The group approaching the castle was made up of a couple knights - herself, Sybilla, Sir Davis and Sir Frederick, as well as the last two's second and squire. Then they had Geofrey, who was accompanying in his usual advisory and records role, and lastly Rufus and a pair of his rangers. It was not quite a military retinue, but it was enough for whatever trouble might arise along the way.

Trouble within the fortress, however, was something that she doubted they would be of much help with, or even contribute to the trouble. They were coming to discuss an eternally hot topic amongst any group of knights: how to distribute lands that had been taken in war, especially without existing claims to restore. It would be the test of Stone's hopeful guess about Apollyon being brutal in war but effective at ruling in peace. But with that her mind wandered to the deserters slaughtered and the caravans of refugees...

"Ah, the vanguard returns!"

A shout from a man standing above them cut off her thoughts. As they brought their horses to a halt outside the fortress gates, she could see the man who had shouted: a fairly well dressed man in an arming doublet with both of the legion's colors, though she could not make out much more detail at that distance.

Cross flipped his visor up so his smile could be seen. "Vulcan you lazy mason," he shouted back, "don't tell me you came all the way out here just to say hello!"

The man - Mulciber, one of the other Blackstone Warlords that Joy had yet to meet in person, chuckled at the answer he received. "Get in here you angry golem, I'm not shouting for the whole fortress to hear!"

The Lawbringer was still smiling as he shook his head and gave his horse a gentle kick to move it on. Moments later they were inside the fortress, giving Joy a view of its castle town.

Like most, it was cramped with houses so close to each other only the largest of alleys were wide enough for horses in single file, as every square foot of space was prime real estate. The Blackstone Fortress was cramped even by that standard, its huge walls in outright levels rather than being an encirclement of structures, some freestanding, some built into the wall. Such structures were still around, but only on the lowest level of the fortress, which they now entered as they passed the portcullis of the outer gate.

Immediately the cries of merchants and traders trying to peddle their wares hit, the multitude of conversation idle or otherwise, the hammering of blacksmiths and the calls of itinerant preachers, a drunk being thrown from an inn, a foreman yelling at his workers to hurry up with unloading a wagon ahead of them.

It was all familiar to her, reassuringly so despite the almost alien layers of fortified walls above stacked like a cake. When would men build such awesome wonders of architecture again, rather than simply building on what came before?

"We'll dismount at the stable over there," Cross interrupted as he pointed to their right. It did not take long to dismount - stable hands were ready to receive them and take the horses to their hitching posts.

"How far up does the castle go?" Joy asked as she had dismounted, looking towards Rufus as the ranger had ended up dismounting next to her.

"How deep might be a better question," he answered as he was holding the bag with his unstrung bow inside over his shoulder. "Most of what we inhabit is the outside of the castle, otherwise we may as well be climbing down a mineshaft."

Joy frowned as she was suddenly hit by the logistical nightmare the fortress was. Looking towards the top, holding a hand over her head to shield her eyes from the sun's gaze, it struck her just how high up the fortress went. "How do you even move supplies to the top?"

"Horse and cart works well enough," Sybilla answered as she looked over, "I've been here before - there's ramps at the ends that go almost to the top. It's a beautiful ride."

She blinked, staring at the other young dame. "Pull the other one, there's no way there's a road that steep."

"I'm not lying, though it's more that it loops around."

"The stairs are probably faster," Rufus added as he glanced towards Cross. "I heard that the way Apollyon took this fort was finding a way into the depths and then ambushing from inside."

"The castle's one weakness," the Lawbringer agreed despite not even looking back. "Those stairs are a maze."

"It works both ways though!" another voice cut in: the man who had called to them when they reached the gate.

Now that he was closer, Joy could make out his features more. Though Vulcan - Mulciber, by his demonic moniker - appeared to be a man that shaved, she could see the lack of a recent one and for a nobleman his reddish brown hair seemed to be a tangle. Whether it was intentional or he simply hadn't been able to groom recently, she wasn't sure. But he had a big smile on his face, almost emphasizing his rounded gut. The kind of gut that showed one as part of the well-to-do who weren't particularly active as warriors.

"So you like to tell me," Cross answered as the two men approached and grabbed each other's hands to shake. "It's been a while, Horace. Any trouble while we were away?"

"None you need to worry about," he said as they shook before letting go, at ease in spite of Cross' armor. "So, are we going to bother with the formalities, or can we skip the unnecessary waste of time?"

"We have not been formally introduced, Lord Vulcan," Joy said as she bowed her head.

He stopped, turning to smirk at Cross. "I see you've taught her your disdain, _Asmodai_."

"We are not having this conversation again," the Lawbringer growled definitatively.

Mulciber simply shrugged. "Well, she knows who I am and I know of her," he turned his head to look at her. "So, this is the Sword of Harrowgate."

Despite herself, she found her smile returning widely. "I might have been the sword, but Commander Stone and his men were the shield."

"Ah, Iron Legion," he dismissively waved his hand. "That's the best they can do - fix those damn savages for real warriors to kill."

Joy's hand clenched into a fist, but Cross interrupted before she could speak up. "Stone's men are the old Iron Legion, Horace. They're warriors."

"Well, I'll leave the judgment to those who fought with them," Mulciber glanced at each of the knights as the last of them handed off their horses to the stable hands. "Anyways, the meeting is not to start for another few days - you're early."

"We made good time on the road," the Lawbringer shrugged.

"Well, since you did, maybe give your knights a chance to rest?" he paused, waving a hand in front of his nose. "Actually, get them to the baths. Have you taken your armor off at all since you marched on Westhold?"

Cross immediately tensed, killing the attempted humor. Mulciber took a step back as he saw the glare he was now subject to.

"Forget I said anything," he finally said. "Anyways, Apollyon was dealing with matters of state, so if there's anything you need to report to her on, I'd try the throne room."

"Very well. Are the usual quarters prepared for my retinue?"

"They are! And as always," Mulciber turned to the others, "if you need anything, just speak to my castellan."

XXXXXX

After they had settled in, Cross had told them that he needed to deal with something alone, and left them to sort out who would get which room in the quarters they had been given. It was a suite of guest rooms not too far from the top of the fortress, built around a common space that had a direct connection to the wall outside. A long table dominated the center of it, which would be where they ate. Otherwise it was rather typical castle quarters; not particularly extravagant, but the walls did have some old tapestries.

The same could be said regarding the bedrooms themselves, even if the paintings on the walls had faded. As worrying a sign as that usually might be, it was an unfounded one as everything else was up to the mark. A dresser for clothes, a chest for various items, a dummy to place armor on, a night stand with a candle if needed, and an actually comfortable bed. Yes it was all packed together, but it was still a vast improvement over a barracks. And for Joyeuse, a much needed respite from being in the field.

Reliably good food, a soft bed, and a stone roof over her head were all well and good, but perhaps the best aspect was that she could finally get out of her armor safely. Sure she had grown used to wearing it on campaign, but there was something to be said about being able to walk without the weight of that much steel distributed across her body.

"Heading to the baths, Joyeuse?" Sybilla remarked as Joy stepped out of the room she was quartered it.

The Warden tilted her head with a slight frown. "What makes you say that?"

"For one, you took your armor off, and we both know that's not court dress."

Joy briefly glanced down. No, she was not dressed for court: the light brown gambeson she wore beneath her armor, and the blue hose that was usually hidden entirely by the armor protecting her legs. Hardly formal material, but it was hardly stripping down to her tunic beneath that.

"I could use a bath, but that can wait." She walked over to the table and took a seat across from the other young knight. "So, you said you came here before?"

"A few times as a squire," Sybilla answered before gesturing to the stone faced knight sitting quietly at the other end of the table with a carving knife and a small block of wood. "Sir Frederick has been here more, though."

"Well, I won't bother him," she answered with a shrug, and no reaction from the laconic knight as he continued his carving. "Speaking of court dress, I need to get something nice when I have the chance. Armor only goes so far as formal wear."

"Hah!" Rufus laughed, the ranger interjecting from where he had been leaning on the wall next to the door outside. "Dame, this is the Blackstone Legion. Full armor _is_ formal wear here."

Turning her head, Joy stared at him for a moment as she felt her mouth starting to hang open before she recovered. "I can understand for a knight in retinue or accompanying his lord, but we saw Lord Vulcan-"

"He wasn't actually dressed for court," Davis interrupted as he had stepped out of the room he claimed, having taken off most of his armor save for his mail shirt and the layers beneath. Everyone glanced at him, then he gestured to the door he was closing. "Really thin wood here."

The room was silent for a moment as the other knight took his own seat at the table before he continued. "Anyways, even Mulciber puts on a shirt of mail when it is time for a formal event, but otherwise he doesn't bother. So if you are planning on heading up to the main hall, you may as well put your armor back on."

Joy found herself tilting her head, trying to imagine just how _uncomfortable_ all the courtiers would be in armor. Sure, knights trained in it, but not every nobleman was a knight and certainly not every odd tradesman, priest, scholar, diplomat, or really anyone you could think of.

"I know the legion values being warriors, and a ruler's preference causes fashion to change accordingly, but that?" she paused to pick her words carefully. "That pushes belief."

Rufus shrugged. "Who knows? Power always attracts oddities, like those rich men that buy nightingales for their wives' bedrooms."

"Though no, most courtiers don't wear armor," Sybilla added as she leaned back in her chair. "It's just custom for the legion's knights to attend in armor. I doubt the rest is that different from what you grew up knowing."

Joy shrugged her shoulders. That was fair enough, and it was not like knights in other realms refused to wear armor during official meetings. Many did out of martial pride, but there were also those who preferred to dress for court and show their realm's wealth in that way. Or just did not like the weight of armor for long stints in a council chamber.

"Speaking of attending court," Davis asked as he glanced between them, "did Lord Cross tell either of you if he wants us with him at the summit, or were we just accompanying him for the trip here?"

"Does it matter?" Frederick cut in suddenly as he looked up.

"Not really," Davis shrugged back, "but it would be nice to know. Especially considering what this is all about."

"That's right," Rufus remarked as he pushed himself from the wall. "You're not actually landed, are you Sir Davis?"

"Is that meant to remind me of a lack, ranger?" Davis warned, leaving Joy worried for a moment before the older knight cracked a smile and both chuckled.

"I think we would all like to get our own little piece of Ashfeld to call our own," Sybilla admitted as she leaned forward. "But we are knights of a legion, and that means we do not _have_ to be landed for our service."

"It is good form, though," Joy admitted as she considered the prospect for a moment. She could certainly do some good from such a position, but on the other hand did she really need that? A legion was expected to maintain its forces from its own treasury, rather than make them pay for their own gear.

"Yeah well, you can argue for that if you want," Rufus shook his head. "Me? I'd be happy just being allowed to hunt in the woods and put meat on the table myself."

"Really?" Sybilla tilted her head. "Considering that you're his favorite ranger, Lord Cross hasn't given you permission?"

"Oh, the master huntsman at Redflow brings me aboard often enough, but it's always a per-job deal," the ranger waved a hand as if dismissing the topic. "Anyways, don't mind the peasant's two coppers on landing knights, what am I supposed to know?"

Joy shrugged at the remark. "There's nothing wrong with being knowledgeable about social affairs."

"Oh sure, but I get a headache thinking about it. Easier to just focus on who I need to track and who I need to shoot."

"Fair enough," Davis admitted as he glanced at the table, then leaned back so he could open a drawer under the table. "That said, I know you are smarter than you say you are, Rufus. Shall we play?"

The ranger tilted his head for a moment before the knight pulled out a square board with a number of pieces on it. Chess.

"Alright, you're on!" The ranger smiled as he made his way over. Joy shifted her seat as the knight started arraying the pieces. She actually wanted to see which of them would win.

Unfortunately as the game was reaching its height, a messenger had arrived asking for the Warden to head to the main hall. Apparently, Apollyon had wanted to see her and Lord Cross. For what, the messenger could not say. As Cross had not told them where he went, Joy asked the messenger to relay that back along with her intent to arrive as soon as she could.

XXXXX

Despite having already spoken to her at length outside that lonely hill fort, Joyeuse was still uneasy at the prospect of meeting Apollyon again. Maybe it was the simple unease of meeting the master of the legion she served, or perhaps it was the questions she had on the nature of said legion. That she was going to do so as Holden Cross' second in all but name only heightened it, as it meant she reflected not only on herself but also the Lawbringer she was in the retinue of.

Yet she had to put that aside as she climbed the round tower that led to what passed as a keep on this monstrosity of a castle. The tower's insides were further covered in shields of defeated Legions and Warborn clans, as well as a few that she was certain had come from the Myre. A reminder of Ashfeld's long and bloody history… how many of these had been taken by the Blackstones, and how many were from the distant past? Not that it mattered, she was back in armor to appear before her liege lady. Joy had left her helmet behind, but she still wondered if perhaps her fellow knights had been pulling the wool on the newcomer about the legion's court.

She got her answer as she reached the antechamber at the top of the fortress. Almost to the peak, it began with an open air balcony that led to three archways up the stairs that acted as a sort of triple passageway towards a hall within with its own passages. It was not the throne room, but connected to it – a common space for those who made up the Blackstone Legion's court or who were in attendance to it. It was a place for quiet conversations that while not private were not quite for the public discourse in the tavern.

And as the others had said, most of the knights were in armor, or at least the basic mail shirts. She recognized a few from the campaign, others she did not, but what struck her more was a distinct aversion to showing opulence amongst the other courtiers. Yes their clothing was far better than even a typical sunday dress, but absent were the excessive pattern decorations or complicated multi-component dresses. Luxury was shown by a few pieces of jewelry rather than sheer glamour and clothes you had to be sewn into.

Still, Joy had to make her way onwards, past the antechamber down a narrow corridor that widened to accommodate stairs to the throne room itself. At the top was another door, and a guard in Blackstone colors standing with a halberd.

"Dame Maylis?" he asked, glancing at the Warden's plate on her chest, then nodding. "You may enter, though Captain Salavander is currently petitioning our master."

"Should I wait outside?"

"The choice is yours, Warden, though most prefer to wait outside."

"Thank you for the warning, but if expected I should be present."

"Certainly." He stepped aside, and she made her way inside to the throne room itself.

Joyeuse had been in many such halls, and each one said something about the one who held court within. Most preferred to decorate their throne rooms with tapestries or paint the walls to show their wealth, and to display important historical events or concepts they drew legitimacy from. Others used tricks of lighting from the windows to create an effect - often centering the light on the throne, to give a sense of God's favor of the ruler, or to ensure all could see so that nothing was hidden. Some decorated it further with statues, others placed chairs and tables to allow for courtiers to sit and discuss affairs while present in court.

Apollyon did none of that. This throne room was dark despite the glass windows along the upper walls and ceiling. The patterns of the shadows made it clear why that was: each one had been covered with an iron grate. And in terms of other lighting, there were wall mounted braziers but only half of them had been lit, alternating between sides. And what paintings and tapestries there were had been allowed to fade, covered by Blackstone banners that made it clear that was for no lack of wealth. Benches along the walls were all that there was for furniture to those in attendance, and those were as simply designed as could be.

The throne, situated on an elevated dais pressed against the back, followed the pattern. If anything it was more of a chair that happened to be made of stone than a throne conveying the power and majesty of a sovereign's realm. It would hardly impress anyone, and Joy could already imagine the sneers that would be directed at it. The disdain of the many lords that would be utterly unimpressed by such a lack of grandeur in such a powerful woman's seat of power.

But somehow, Joy suspected that it was all intentional. It was built to be sparse, utilitarian, and uncomfortable: to get petitioners to make their plea and move on rather than bog it down in diplomatic sweet talk. To dissuade courtiers from lingering in the throne room, of which there was a complete lack. And with that lack of others, and perhaps the room's design, attention was forced towards the heavily armored knights that ruled in this land. Towards the warlord sitting in full armor on her throne and the only two guards in the room on her flank.

Both of those guards were well armored in partial plate, with most of the steel they wore blackened to a nightmarish hue that made any details nearly impossible to see, while making the dull orange paint that made up the other Blackstone color stand out all the more. Joy had seen that kind decoration before on another knight, at Westhold. Ademar's armor had been similarly blackened and painted, even if it used different patterns. And like that former Warden they carried themselves with a confidence that made it seem like they were bored.

The contrast was dramatic, given the knight who was standing before them at the foot of the dais. Unaware of the new entry to the throne room, he kept speaking.

"I have served as captain of this garrison for ten years," he was continuing as he held his cylindrical great helm in his right arm. "I should have gone with our campaign, yet I remained to guard our territory for someone must. It is past time, master, that I have the opportunity to prove in no uncertain terms that I am a warrior, not some third son dumped to guard an unassailable fortress."

"Few can question your skill with the sword," Apollyon answered with an almost bored tone as she looked past him for a moment. Joy looked back, pausing and dipping her head in respect, hoping to allow the business to continue uninterrupted. Apollyon decided otherwise.

"Ah, Warden," the Blackstone Legion's master nodded. "Good, you received the message."

"My apologies, master," Joy answered hastily as she kept her gaze down. "I did not mean to interrupt."

"You were fine," the warmaster waved her hand. "We will speak after I finish with Captain Salavander."

Joy shifted further to the wings of the court room and took a seat on one of the benches. Interrupting ongoing matters of court was always terrible business, but at least in this case there were few to see it… and the one holding court did not care. That did not mean Salavander would not, though: he seemed to have a sense of self importance.

Especially as she got a better look at him and his sheer contrast to the warmaster and her two knights. Though his mail sticking out from the jack he wore over his torso was normal steel, the plate parts of his armor - the pauldrons, the couters, the gauntlets, and even the greaves - had been richly decorated. Mostly bronzed, but by the tone and reflection she bet at least some gold had been applied at a few artistic points. In any other court, the kind of armor he wore would be what those behind Apollyon would be wearing.

And the man himself was middle aged, but lacked all the small scars and marks that most active knights picked up. His light brown hair was well groomed, combed towards the back and paired with a finely trimmed goatee. He carried all the airs of an aristocrat who spent more time in court than the battlefield, a sharp contrast to the knights Joy had been with but minutes ago.

"As I was saying before this fortunate arrival," he continued, "I know how many see me. They question my worth, wonder why I am captain of the garrison. We all understand that it is warriors who rule here, yet since I became the garrison captain I have not had the opportunity to test my metal."

"And being given some backwater farmhouse in the moors will give this to you?" Apollyon's voice dripped in how acidic it was. "Only a fool doubts your abilities, Sir Julius: how many have died trying to challenge your honor?"

"Three, by last count," he admitted as he grimaced.

"And many times more made to yield to your dominance," Apollyon continued as she shifted forward in her seat. "Let the fools keep failing to defeat you. Your petition is heard, Captain Salavander. I make no promises, but I know your worth as a warrior."

The knight's grimace hardened before he snapped his heels together and bowed his head. "Yes, master. If there is nothing else you wish of me, I shall take my leave."

"Go," Apollyon waved her hand.

With a precise about-face, he walked out of the throne room with the practice of parade marching. And as he left, Joy rose and looked towards the throne, showing that she awaited the signal to approach.

That signal never came as Apollyon rose from her throne, stepping down and approaching her.

"Master," Joy immediately bowed - curtseying seemed inappropriate given the legion's norms and her armor.

"So formal," Apollyon remarked as she waved a hand to gesture her to rise. "Welcome to the fortress of the Blackstone Legion, Warden. I hope that it has been hospitable so far, despite its unusual design."

"It has, master," she answered as she returned to her full height. "And I apologize that I could not tell your messenger where Lord Cross had gone."

"No matter - if he did not come here and did not tell you, there is only one place I know where he would go. We will go together, as I think there is something you need to see there."

Now Joyeuse felt her guard returning, and an increasingly wariness. What was at play here?

"Lead the way."

Apollyon did not even bother acknowledging it, simply leading her out of the throne room. As they left, the two knights behind the throne had relaxed and turned to talk to each other. But more than that, Joy noticed one more presence that had been in the throne room, silently watching from the shadows in the corner left of the door when exiting: Mercy.

The Peacekeeper said nothing as they passed by, remaining within the shadows even as Joy glanced at her and continued to follow the warmaster.

XXXXX

Passing through the antechamber had been surprisingly swift - though conversations halted, they resumed quickly as Apollyon half-heartedly returned acknowledgments of those closer and moved on. Now they were moving along the upper level, towards the western side of the fortress' peak.

"You seem unhappy with holding court," Joy remarked as she closed a door behind them, speaking slowly as she carefully phrased the question on what she had noticed.

"I see the throne room does its job," Apollyon answered, though any smile was hidden by her helmet. "Good. I care little for groveling bootlickers come to beg favors, but such is the way of our civilized world."

"Sir Julius did not seem to be a bootlicker. If anything, he seemed eager to prove himself."

"He has, but his ambition is as predictable as it is simple. Perhaps he can make more of himself as Belial does, those two are brothers in envy, but it will not come the way he expects."

Joy fell silent at that as they passed under an archway towards a rounded bastion sticking out of the mountain. That statement was true to her as well: reservations aside, this was not how she had envisioned joining a legion, or the legion she had envisioned. And now that the thought was on her mind…

"So what about you, young Warden?" Apollyon's question cut through her thoughts, as if she knew. "What ambitions do you have for your life?"

"Now?" she answered, receiving a nod that left Joy needing a quick answer. "Heal Ashfeld. There's brigands to defeat, order to restore, and the Warborn will be back soon enough."

"Yes, you will be busy with that, but what do you truly desire?" The warmaster forced the question, turning her head to look at Joy eye to eye. "Surely a young Warden of 'gentle birth' has more to her life than servitude. If you were truly content, why would you come so far from home rather than marry?"

When Joy did not immediately answer, glancing away as she realized she had no good answer, Apollyon leaned her head back, expression masked by her helmet.

"Ambition is no vice," Apollyon continued as they stopped outside a set of double doors, one marked with the legion's symbol and the other with a holy cross. "It was ambition that brought you here, to Ashfeld, and look at what you have already achieved."

A slow nod was her only answer. Apollyon seemed to accept it, but Joy had the distinct feeling this conversation was delayed rather than over. With that, Apollyon opened the door and led them inside.

It appeared to be a common space for gathering, rows of benches around a central pathway, and at the end was a table with a cross and chalice. Joy immediately bowed her head, crossing herself as she understood that this was a chapel. But as she looked back up, unaware of if Apollyon had done such herself, she noticed there was more to this chapel.

Before the pulpit was a raised platform, barely past a foot but long enough for a coffin. Then she noticed another door at the back of the chapel on the right side. And this one was guarded by a statue, one that almost caused her to question where she was.

The statue itself was actually rather familiar to her, even though she knew it was not one she had spent a day and night staring at while she held vigil. Carved out of undecorated brown stone only different from the castle's stonework by being better shined, it was a depiction of a legionnaire holding a shield before them and a sword behind that. Yet the face was blank, and the design of the armor left a mystery to even the sex of who it portrayed.

Pointing towards the door next to the statue, Apollyon led the young Warden further inside. "Death is a warrior's fate," the older woman explained as they walked, "And because of that, we must honor the dead: remembered or otherwise."

Apollyon's gaze fell on the statue, and Joy's followed as she understood. In Anastasis, the last chapter house the Wardens maintained, they had kept a similar statue in the crypts: one to memorialize all those whose sacrifices had been lost and forgotten. The fate every Warden risked as they laid their lives down for those far from the centers of power, one that they were supposed to come to terms with in their vigil. And the hope that though they may one day be forgotten, their heroism would live on.

And as they reached the door, they went down a circular stairwell lit by recently ignited torches, and when they came out it struck Joy that this was not any chapel: it was a chantry and crypt all in one.

Built into the mountain itself, the crypt did its best to be efficient in its use of space. Regular alcoves had been built into each side of the hallway, with burial slots placed two high in each wall section, six to an alcove. Though the tombs themselves were featureless stone save for a name, next to each plot was space for monumental brass.

Such brasswork were depictions of the deceased in eternal repose, clad as they were to be remembered. In the case of this particular combination of chantry and crypt, all of them depicted in armor. Depicted as knights. This was where the Blackstone Legion buried and remembered their warlords and champions.

And two alcoves down and on the right side, lit by the candles glowing on free standing iron stands, Joy saw Holden Cross standing before a particular tomb. It was not a new one, as dust had gathered on the brass that the Lawbringer was looking towards, which depicted a woman in armor with sword and shield.

The Lawbringer had not noticed the newcomers as Apollyon stepped forward quietly, and Joy found questions bouncing about in her head. Had he come here for Ademar alone, or had there been someone else he felt the need to visit? Was it a friend, someone he had failed or sent to her death? Had he known love, only for it to be lost in war?

_Not the time,_ she told herself as she realized how far her mind was wandering. This was not the place for gossip disguised as wonder.

At that point, Cross had noticed the two newcomers and he gently pushed back from the stone where his hand had been. "Master. Warden." His address was quiet, not weak but also not as Joy was used to hearing.

"Holden," Apollyon started, her voice lowering as well. "I thought you would be here, but not for Ilonna."

He grimaced, looking at the brass one more time before inhaling. "I do not forget my actions."

"No." Apollyon glanced to Joy, then back to Cross. "I trust you two will confront what lingers."

Both of them frowned as they looked at their leader, before Apollyon abruptly turned and made her way back outside. The Warden and Lawbringer both stood silently as they were left alone, unsure of what their superior had intended. Eventually, Joy decided to break the silence.

"Who was she?" Joy asked, looking towards the brass that Cross had been standing at.

"A friend, a warlord… and a victim." Cross took a deep breath, shaking his head before stepping towards one of the first alcoves. "You need to know about our history."

Joy followed, and moments later they were standing before a brass depicting a knight, a Hospitaller's cross across his chest. The Lawbringer pointed to the lower of the two tombs on that wall face. "Our first warlord, Sir Robert Stormwind. When the fifteen of us started the legion, we chose him to lead us. Who better to reforge knighthood than a knight who had gone from surgeon to warrior, who refused to be distracted by love? He succeeded, but a duel with Margarey put an end to his rule for that chastity."

Lilith - the Peacekeeper that had negotiated with Savona's patricians in Jesolo. But what did this history lesson entail?

Then Cross pointed to the opposite face, towards a tomb with the brass next to it depicting a woman in full armor, a rose in hand while a shield at her feet was engraved with a specific crest centered around the same flower. Joy recognized it immediately.

"An Arceneaux?" she asked, staring at the tomb of one of her betters. One of the richest families counted as Royal, and one of the few worthy of being dukes.

"Dame Marielle Arceneaux," Cross nodded as he smiled faintly. "Where her family preferred courtly decadence, she tempered herself. She embodied the martial valor her ancestors once terrorized the world with. As our second warlord, she was the one who built this crypt, to honor our dead when we could not spare too much to that duty." The Lawbringer exhaled deeply. "And yet, she would be one of the first laid to rest inside, struck down by her successor as she nearly killed Truffe in a duel."

He led her to the alcove across, to a brass depicting a man garbed more like a ranger than a knight - a longbow where most such brasses would show a sword.

"Antony, once a poor forester, yet he became a knight amongst the warriors he guided. He was generous in his rule, the same generosity that sparked his dispute with Marielle. He saw to it that all our people were fed, stretching rations as far as he had to. And yet for all he did for Ashfeld's people and our legion alike, someone poisoned him. We still don't know why or by whom."

Three warlords, each in succession killed by a duel or murdered. Joyeuse felt a chill, as if the air was even more still than it had been. Cross led her to the next alcove as she processed this, to another tomb of another knight. The brass depicted a typical dame, yet Joy noticed that there had been a flower left by the tomb itself, a candle burning. The Lawbringer looked at it, a weak smile crossing his face before he took a breath to steady himself.

"Lady Helena, whose family came from Tholen. The only warmaster of the Blackstone Legion to die in battle with our enemies. The price of her diligence in all masters of state," Cross' hand reached out towards the flower that had been left - sage. "Some say that it was Horace's fault that she died, as she was delaying an attack on a fort he built while his men mustered. Whatever the case, there is one thing he never forgets to do when he is here."

Cross shook his head as Joy suddenly felt how little she truly knew of the men and women she fought alongside. Mere hours before she had met the man Cross spoke of, the man blamed for this warlord's death, and yet it never occurred to her what lay beneath that seeming lack of care to groom.

And now it led them to the tomb that Cross had been standing at when they arrived. "Dame Ilonna," Cross took a deep breath. "My greatest failure. We call ourselves after demon names, as if somehow the childish notion it makes us stronger. There is only one time the name I was given would have been appropriate…" he trailed off, staring at his gauntleted hands as Joy noticed a freshly lit candle had been placed by that tomb.

_He killed her,_ Joy suddenly realized as she looked between the two. The man before her had killed his liege lord: he was a kingslayer, even if the woman had not born such a title. This man who had sworn to embody justice had committed one of the gravest crimes. As her mind ran through the few times such was remotely acceptable, she understood that it had been a duel. What had transpired between the two to cause such a falling out that even today, he felt a need to atone?

"I'm sorry," was all she was able to say, and even then she wondered if it was really the appropriate thing to say.

"Thank you," he inhaled deeply, eyes closed as he seemed to be in his own world for a moment. "I know it is trite, but thank you."

She simply nodded, and Cross moved on, though he could not help but stop to spare one more glance before leading her before yet another tomb. A Conqueror, by the way the brass had been carved - coarser, without as much detail or even symbols of the legion he had served.

"Was this the man who succeeded her?" Joy asked.

"He was - James. The Lionheart, we called him. The heart of our early days, unfailingly kind. The man who would not repeat my mistakes, even in the face of the Temple Legion." Cross' hand clenched into a fist. "And yet, he was killed by an assassin's crossbow. The only thing we could surmise was it was revenge over how he had spared the knights that had attacked us to use our castles to strike at the Warborn."

_He showed mercy thought misplaced._ And suddenly, her mind wandered back to that squat keep in the middle of a merchant port. This was what he had warned her of.

"And our master's predecessor?" she asked, pointedly avoiding saying the demonic name out loud.

"Lord Mathias," he nodded, pointing to the tomb above and the brass on the opposite end. Like the previous one there was few markings, save for a small insignia that resembled more an artist's mark than a heraldic symbol - yet artists never marked themselves in these brasses.

"He was a Royal, like you and Marielle, but from Austrus and without any pride in his station." Cross almost smiled. "He never introduced himself by his family name, only by his given, and barely acknowledged rank. He would eat with the legionnaires, laugh and joke with them even when he was their master. He would even heed what the colonists we subjugated said, seeing the Warborn as peers that we faced."

Joy could already see exactly where this was going. A damned pattern that had emerged within a single lifetime.

"He was the seventh warlord, and he had been ready to concede to the eighth. He never held illusions of having no weakness, and whatever stability he gave us we would stagnate without ambition at the head." The Lawbringer's hand clenched into a fist, tight as the grimace on his face. "Yet our 'devout' knight pressed him to stand against her, convincing him her challenge was pure vanity. So the two fought in a lawful duel, and since then no one else took the legion."

Now she understood Cross' rivalry with Orobas, and why the Lawbringer had looked down on him so much. They could have had a peaceful transition of power, one where a wise ruler abdicated knowing he was not suited to lead such a legion. Instead, blood was spilled once more.

"Our short history is a bloody one," Cross finished, exhaling and letting his body loosen as he turned towards her. " _Put up again thy sword into his place, for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword._ "

And what were knights but those who lived by the sword? If she remained a Blackstone, one day this would be her fate. To face what she had inflicted on so many. The only reassurance she had was that maybe, just maybe, her life would be taken in defense of the innocent.

Joy's gaze shifted away, towards a tomb that was recently filled yet there was no brass next to it to show the man laid within, and recently lit candles nearby. She could see those eyes again, a man she may have once been able to call an oathsworn brother, staring at her desperately before it all ended. Before _she_ ended it.

And Cross had noticed her gaze shifting. "Yes," he answered, "that is where Ademar rests now. Why I came alone."

"I'm sorry," she said again, "I didn't know."

"Nor did you have reason to," he continued as he placed a hand on her shoulder, from behind due to how she had turned. "We all deal with grief differently, Warden."

Joy felt her hand running down to her belt, groping with a mind of its own as she found it. Looking down, she once again was face to face with the symbol of her order - defaced with a single deliberate stroke by its previous owner. _Her_ predecessor in the Blackstone Legion. The man _she_ cut down before a hundred witnesses, including the man behind her.

"What was he like, before it all?" she asked before her mind could check her words. "Before he turned from his order. Before this all happened, before I… before I…"

"Brave," Cross started as he let go of her shoulder. "But afraid. Afraid for Ashfeld, for his brother's family caught in lands the Warborn had taken. Afraid for those too weak to defend themselves. Do you know what his shield had been engraved with?"

She shook her head.

"Cypress. I always liked to tease him about it - of all the things to symbolize his status as a Warden, a bush?" The voice behind her lightened, and as she glanced back she saw a smile. "He bore it with pride though, and we all knew what it symbolized." His left hand gestured around, and Joy understood.

"In that case, I'd ask to stay here, at least for a little while." She turned, looking back at him.

The Lawbringer frowned for a moment, but then nodded once, slowly as he fully understood. He stepped around her, and with one last look towards the incomplete memorial, he made his way out of the crypt.

And that left her alone, to pray for the man whose life she had ended. She focused on what she remembered, that last moment staring through his visor. A monumental brass like those in this crypt were meant to help those who prayed for the dead, to help them envision the soul they hoped their prayers would aid. But that was for those who never knew the departed, or had forgotten through time.

The man's last moments before eternal rest was all she had, but it was enough. Praying was the least she could do for a member of her order, former or otherwise.

XXXXXX

Holden Cross made his way from the Blackstone's memorial chapel, awash with a strange sensation. Part of it was the usual numbness he felt whenever he had visited those long and recently gone, but another part was… could he call it pride? Or perhaps thanks, to know something that had been spoken of months ago had been truth.

There was something else on his mind as he stepped out and closed the door behind him though. He had thought to be alone, and yet…

"Ah, Holden."

Yes. That.

Cross turned and looked up to see who had called his name. Apollyon, leaning against the crenellations opposite of the chapel doors. And next to her, holding freshly picked sage, was the man who had greeted them to the fortress, though now he had covered his head with a black chaperon hat.

"Master, Horace," he answered, nodding to the two in turn as they stood up, then lingered on Mulciber. "If you wish to go in and pay your respects, you can."

He dipped his head. "Thank you."

As the other warlord made his way inside, it left the Lawbringer and former Warden alone, and Cross moved to the edge of the balcony next to her.

"You knew I was in there, and who else I would be visiting," he said to her. It was not meant as an accusation, but given his voice he knew it would come across as such.

Apollyon laughed, a quiet one, but a laugh regardless. "You think I had a scheme in mind, like some grovelling courtier?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I _am_ a Lawbringer. Ferreting out such schemes is my duty."

Apollyon briefly held a hand up. "So it is. And yes, I knew you were in there. You always pay your respects to Ilonna when you come by, and had not been able to attend when Ademar was buried."

"Then why did you bring Joyeuse if you knew what I was doing?"

"Some affairs must be confronted head on. There was no better time for you two to deal with them."

He grimaced, wishing she was not in the habit of keeping her helmet on. Despite knowing her for decades and being able to pick up many of the smaller tics that could tell him if she was smiling under the helmet or not, that helmet was a barrier to her humanity.

"We made peace with the past," he answered.

"Then perhaps it is time you help a Royal live up to their creed of _de jure_ and _de facto_. She is a worthy successor to Ademar, and has been your right hand this past season. Let her take that role formally."

Holden exhaled, looking across the lands around the fortress as the sun was making its way back down past the horizon. Yes, it was time, but there was something he needed to know.

"And what role do you see for her in the legion?" he asked back, looking at her as he leaned forward against the battlement. "You have taken a personal interest in her progress, and not just that given to a promising recruit."

Apollyon chuckled, turning to lean herself. "I see potential for the future. We have not elevated any as new warlords, and we founders are reaching our twilight years."

"She is far from ready for that kind of responsibility," he immediately warned. "She lacks the experience, and I am not sure the men would follow her like that."

"Of course not, she is still a newcomer no matter her deeds. But more than that, she does not know who she is anymore than we do. She will only know that when her oaths conflict, when she must pick between us and being a Warden. When faced with a challenge that breaks her."

That left him quiet, and suddenly Holden was faced with a new question: was he willing to keep her on a path where he _knew_ she would run afoul with her oaths? Ademar had survived that crucible, but he had years more experience than Joy did when he faced it.

"You hesitate, Holden. Do you not want to help a young warrior realize her potential?"

Pressing his arms even harder against the crenelations, the Lawbringer turned his head back towards the fallen Warden. "Do you see no problem with forcing a confrontation of oaths onto her?"

"We could wait for the Warborn, an ambitious new legion, or even a Chosen Emperor willing to use the samurai as something other than courtiers, and she would still face that trial." Apollyon shook her head firmly. "War teaches many lessons. This is a lesson best learned when she has a full life to use it, however short it is."

Inhaling, he realized that Apollyon was right. Joyeuse had come to Ashfeld to aid its people as a Warden. Yes she was pushed to that by noble politics, but she had still chosen to journey all this way. She wanted to fight the Legions' collective enemies, rather than rivals. Which, if he broke it down further, meant she was seeking to be a heroine rather than just another knight.

And that meant she would come face to face with harsh truths, both those that Ashfeld shielded so many other realms from and that of the glory's cost. But was it something she had truly desired from her life, or had it been a bout of youthful rebellion against the life her mother had planned for her?

The incident with the deserters made it clear: the young Warden still had issues from following her impulse. With good intentions, but that meant little against cold steel. She needed something stable, something that whatever reservations she had she would stick to. And whether by fate or simply how the dice flew, that was the Blackstone Legion.

"So be it," he finally exhaled, conceding the matter. "But we are playing with fire. She has potential, but if war breaks her…" he hesitated. "Who knows where it may lead?"

"In the end, no one can truly know. But that is the nature of the world: when faced with adversity, we change in ways we never expect."

Apollyon left him there with those words, and the Lawbringer was left with a distinct sense that his old comrade was excited at just how many ways this could go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be more about the current Blackstone Legion leaders and Joy meeting them, rather than what it became. Yet the story has up until now been the intensity of a military campaign, and once I ended up writing the scene in the crypt - something I had wanted to do at some point - it clicked that this was what the chapter needed to be. Character focus, a chance to sit back and decompress.


	12. To The Victor, Spoils

"Little by little, squire!"

Joyeuse was watching as Sir Frederick's young squire was practicing the technique of lance work against a quintain. A lance could not be held lowered before the charge - the bounce of riding would make it hard to aim. To be landed hard and true, it had to be lowered into its final position as close to the target as possible.

But that poor squire had lowered the lance too fast, and even the bounce of the tilting cart he rode was enough to miss. As he did, he smacked face first into the quintain's target and almost fell over into the other squire pushing it from behind.

"That has to hurt," Sybilla remarked as she had seen it, her free right hand resting on the lowered bevor that was attached to her helmet.

Joy nodded as an answer back, before slapping her own visor down. "So, again?" the Warden asked as she hefted up the wooden longsword she had instead of Dusk.

"Alright." The other woman agreed as she brought up and locked the bevor, drawing a wooden blade similar to the cavalry sword she usually had to pair with her heater shield. The two saluted with their swords, and went at it again.

The two dames had come to the training grounds outside The Shard, not far from the main road, along with the majority of the knights garrisoned or visiting the capital of the Blackstone Legion. Training never ended, so when at peace and without another duty to see to a knight's morning was spent at the quintain or pell practicing martial technique. Even better, however, was to spar with another knight, even if it was with wasters.

Though the best experience came from the real thing, the truth was that sparring would chip, fatigue, and wear down blades. It would simply ruin such relatively expensive weapons even if they were properly tended to afterwards. For daily practice, the use of wooden training swords - wasters - was the best option. If it broke, it was cheap to replace.

And that was before considering the dangers of full contact sparring. Much as Joy preferred genuine experience, she accepted why day-to-day such was irresponsibly dangerous. Even with the wasters, she could not be careless as they still packed enough weight to hurt if she failed to defend herself. And an unlucky blow to something particularly vulnerable, like the neck? Accidents happened, sometimes fatally.

Catching a downward strike with a half sworded parry, Joy pushed back and managed to unsteady Sybilla's footing, leaving her face unguarded for a vital moment. Joy struck three times in close succession with the flat of the crossguard, hitting both the sallet and bevor with the blows.

"Ow, okay, that was a good one!" Sybilla conceded as she staggered back and regained her footing. She raised her shield to protect her face, likely running that same hand along the helmet to reassure herself it was undamaged.

"Call it returning the blow from yesterday," the Warden answered as she felt the initial smile she had from pulling that off fade. She had used the flat, but perhaps had been over enthusiastic about applying the strokes. Then again, Sybilla had knocked Joy right off the horse when practicing combat from horseback the day before - fair was fair.

The normally mounted knight answered by pushing forward again, shield and waster in close succession as she tried to fix Joy's own weapon with one to strike with the other. They went back and forth, trying to push the other into exhaustion in a rapid series of strikes. It continued until as they were both tiring Joy managed to shove her full weight into Sybilla as she was unbalanced again by a deflection putting her sword arm too far to the side.

The Warden followed up immediately with another strike, and the other knight fell onto her back yet again. Joy stood above her opponent, pointing the tip of the waster against the brigandine plate and pressing against the rigid metal strips. The knight on her back let go of her own practice sword and held her hand open palmed as both were breathing hard from the exertion.

"I yield," the beaten cavalrywoman conceded.

Joy stepped back, pulling the wooden blade away and lifting her visor. "Well fought."

Sybilla half rolled over in the grass once she had unlocked and lowered her bevor to breathe easier, then pushed herself back up to her feet and collected her sword. "Likewise. Though I think I am going to stop while I can still walk."

"Certainly, we've been at it all morning."

As Sybilla reached her feet, she glanced towards the fort, then back to Joy. "Too bad you won't be available tomorrow. Bruising as it is, this has really helped my footwork."

"Maybe," the Warden answered as she faintly smiled, "but your agility could use some work."

"Well then, that's what we have an obstacle course for."

The two women glanced towards where said obstacle course had been set up, one that a Lawbringer that Joy did not recognize was running through at the moment. The course was meant to test all the skills of agility, as knights had to be able to fight, mount a horse, jump, climb a ladder, and even swim in full armor. Good armor design distributed the weight across the body, but that only went so far. To account for the rest, physical training was paramount, and so they ran the obstacle course in armor. Even, or perhaps especially, Lawbringers.

"Anyways," the other young knight continued, "I should go check on Phoebus. It's not that I don't trust the stablehands here, but he is my horse."

Joy nodded. A warhorse was just as vital to a cavalryman as her longsword was to her. "I can return the waster, if you are finished for today."

She tossed the weapon over and the Warden caught it with her free hand. "Thank you. I'll see you after lunch, then?"

"Until then."

The two parted ways, Sybilla making her way towards the fortress itself, while Joy tossed the second waster into the same hand as her own and made her way towards the end of the training field. A tent had been erected there to store the sheer number of practice weapons of all types and sizes for use by the knights, from polearms to swords to bows. It also had several piles of rags and water troughs for the knights to use, all kept ready by the various pages and squires not working on their own martial training at the moment.

Once she had returned the two wasters, Joy went to the nearest available water trough, pulling her helmet off as she did so. Though some of the sweat had started to dry, the cold drip was still streaking down all across her body. Even more so as her blonde braid bounced with the motion of removing the helmet and setting it next to the water trough she had chosen.

"Even caked in sweat, a dame's beauty remains."

Joyeuse felt her entire body tense as she heard the pass directed at her just as she had started to reach into the trough. Once the initial reaction passed, she let her shoulders sag, exhaling as she turned to answer properly. "Charming, but wh-" she suddenly stopped as she saw a familiar squared face, but far better kept than the first time she had seen it. "Stone?"

"Too much?" the Conqueror asked as he shrugged, skull-decorated helmet tucked under his arm. "Yeah, too much. Definitely too much."

"What are you even doing here?" she asked as she felt like the other leg was going to be pulled at any moment. "I thought you went back to Harrowgate."

"I did, but Apollyon called me for this summit." He glanced at the fortress, then back to her with a shrug. "I guess my opinion matters."

A few of the other Blackstones were giving the two second glances, and Joy held a hand up. "I need to wash my face, we can talk on the way back to the fort."

"Yeah, no problem." He took a step back, then muttered a bit more under his breath. "Probably should've waited…"

Yes, he should have. Still, she kept smiling even as her gauntlets made the job of splashing water onto her face and wiping with a rag more annoying than usual. Good friends had been hard to come by on the road, and after the campaign she had wanted to keep Stone as a friend even if they were separated by where they were garrisoned.

And maybe a sense of being able to let her guard down. Oh sure, she could spar, talk, and game with any of the knights in Cross' retinue, but she was a newcomer amongst them. With Stone, they were both newcomers to the Blackstone Legion even if Stone had been born in Ashfeld. And he was Iron Legion that at least tried to live up to the ideal, even if he could no longer wear the colors.

Scooping her helmet back up and tucking it under her arm, she noticed that Stone also had a saddlebag that was resting at his hip, hung by a strap, and he was opening the flap.

"By the way," the Conqueror started as they made their way towards the fortress, "some adventurer had stopped at Harrowgate. He said he was hired to deliver letters, including some for you."

"From who?" she asked, a mind awhirl to both the letters she had sent… God, had it been months ago? And she hadn't tried to write home in the summer since? _Of course not,_ she remembered. _It is too far for regular letters to be sent._

"I didn't open them," he added as he reached into the satchel and pulled one out, "but two of them had a big unicorn on the seal, so…"

Joyeuse stopped where she was and snatched the letter straight out of his hands, looking at the seal. Yes, she recognized it: how could she not recognize the sigil of her house?

Breaking the wax seal, it surprised her how ravenous it must have looked as the Conqueror just stood there, reaching a hand towards the back of his neck and looking around as she read the letter from her older brother.

_Joyeuse, I pray that this letter finds you alive and in good health. Your last letter came with word of your deeds at Harrowgate. And just as you have grown, I now write back as Count of Sandshore Castle as our mother has stepped down. As such we must first confront the business of state in your newfound service in the Blackstone Legion._

_With the truth of the Iron Commanders' fall now without a doubt by their retreat from Ashfeld, the question of oaths lay before us. Alas, much as I might wish it, it is our will that House Maylis not offer the Blackstone Legion the fealty we once gave the Iron Legion. Our matters are too far from Ashfeld for those oaths to be meaningful by either party. Regardless, give our regards to the Blackstone Legion's master, from one sovereign to another._

_Putting aside the business of state, let me write to you as the two of us will always remain: as siblings. I may be Count and the head of our house now, but you have forged your own path. If what we have heard of Harrowgate is even half true, mere words could not express how proud we all are of your achievements. I am sure you have countless stories to tell from your campaign, and I wish that there was room in a letter for all of them._

_Unfortunately, things are not all well at home. As I write this, Lord Frolboruss has been receiving support from outside our realm to lay claim to Blackhawk Castle, to dispose Guillaume as a pretender. I know that you may feel the need to rush home, given what your absence meant, but we can deal with a rebellious lord and whatever conniving rivals seek to kill a loyal baron. By the time you even start riding back, the situation will be resolved one way or another. Do not worry about us, Joy, we can handle ourselves. Keep carving your path in Ashfeld, you have more than earned it._

_And please, write as you can. Even if whole seasons pass between letters, we need all the good news we can. And if the news is not good, even if it has to be sent by someone else, send it as well. We want to know how you are doing, even if all we can do is pray._

_Your Brother, Robert_

Inhaling as she finished the letter, the weight of it hit her. She had become a legion knight, her brother had become Count of Sandshore Castle. And that letter could only be brief - just how much of her family's life was she missing this far from home? She had always imagined Robert's coronation, and now she had missed it entirely. For all she knew, they were fighting for their lives as she was doing little but daily practice.

"Ah, Joy?"

Shaken from her thoughts, she looked up and stepped to the side as a few other knights were coming down the path on their horses. Of course: she had been standing in the middle of that path reading as Stone stood awkwardly.

After those knights rode past, exchanging pleasantries with them as they did, Stone looked at her and the open letter she had in hand. "So can I ask, or is it private?"

"It was word from home," she explained as she tried to collect her thoughts. "My brother…" she stopped as she realized that she was missing a descriptor. " _Lord_ -brother now that he is Count, sent his regards."

"Probably all he could send," the Conqueror shrugged his shoulders. "I hope it was good news."

"Some good, some bad. It'll take too long to explain, though."

"Yeah, I get that." Stone admitted as he handed over the other two letters. "There's a second letter from your family, and this third one I can't tell."

Joy shuffled the letters to see the third, and felt her gut tightening as she recognized that symbol as well, a gauntleted fist. If she had stayed…

"I'll read them later," she finally said as she folded up the first letter again. "Come on, you need to get settled in, and it's a long way to the top."

"Yeah, I sent the others on ahead with the castellan. Edward's probably not happy I hoisted that off onto him," he added as he managed a faint smile. "Then again, he's my second for this summit, so he's stuck."

"Then we will both be there: Cross made me his second after we arrived."

"Well, you pretty much were his second beforehand." He stopped, turning to look back at the practice grounds. "Uh, he isn't training, is he?"

Joy shook her head. "I sometimes help him with his armor, but he didn't come out here today. He said he had to deal with other business."

"Fair enough. So, any idea why he doesn't have his own squire? He's definitely important enough to have one."

"I never thought to ask," her answer came with a shrug. "So, who else came with you?"

"I brought Harrowgate veterans since they're the only ones the Blackstones seem to respect," he admitted as they continued on. "Alberic came to look over any potential recruits we can find, and Ashley just needed a change of scenery."

"Just the four of you?"

"Not quite. Ashley's got a page now, and of course Edward's squire. Alberic is still alone though."

"And you?"

He laughed. "Are you kidding? When Edward suggested to his sister that I train her son, she slapped him."

Joy exhaled, though even she had to concede that was not a surprise.

"Anyways," the lowborn knight continued, "so besides becoming Cross' second, how have you been since Tholen?"

"Good. We dealt with a few stragglers, but nothing serious. What about you?"

"Fixing up Harrowgate, helping David with sorting out the countryside. He's adjusting pretty well to a life of a steward, but God does he hate that it's the only thing he can do now." Stone exhaled sharply. "If I didn't need to leave him in charge of Harrowgate, I would've brought him here. This is going to be all politics."

"He might just be enjoying the thought of you dealing with it."

"Hah, maybe! But I don't know what exactly Apollyon wants with me, especially since I don't really care about who gets what title in northern Ashfeld."

Joy felt herself frowning. "The choices made here are certain to last for generations, and you don't care about who rules?"

"Yeah well, I'm not exactly looking to be a landowner, and the people I care most about are in and around Harrowgate." He stopped, mouth hanging open as he realized how his words came out. "I mean, I care for the rest of Ashfeld, but I don't really care for the politics."

"I understand," she glanced at the gate they were fast approaching.

"Cack, that's a tall castle," the Conqueror muttered as he looked up towards the upper towers on the castle.

"It is, and the keep is at the top."

"Of course it is," he sighed, shaking his head. "So, you've been up there?"

"Yes, mostly to mingle with the court and introduce myself."

"Maybe you can help me with that, because I don't think I know anyone here."

She smiled. "Well, let me get cleaned up, and you will have a proper introduction to the court of the Blackstone Legion. Oh, don't bother taking your armor off."

"Huh?"

"Armor is formal wear for knights here."

Stone tilted his head at her, before shaking it with a sigh. "This is what I get for finally buying a nice jacket."

XXXXXX

Though the other letters from home remained on her mind into the next day, Joy had to put it aside as she followed Cross into the Blackstone Legion's war room, clad in her full armor and with her helmet on. So it was with everyone else in the war room save for a few heralds that had gathered in the corners, talking amongst themselves as they prepared to take record. She recognized Geofrey among their number, but none of the others with him.

Like most council chambers, the most dominant feature was the table. Joy had thought it might be the obsidian table that the Blackstone Legion had founded themselves around, but instead it was a typical rectangular wooden table, one large enough for the eight warlords and the former Iron Legion commander to gather around. Several wooden chairs surrounded the table, though by size they could have been the thrones backwater manors.

And one, made out of stone rather than wood, was almost certainly what was once the throne for this castle, though now it was occupied by an oversized Conqueror lounging in it as it was tucked towards the back corner. Truffe seemed to have claimed it as his own for these meetings, but now he was just one of eight gathered in the room. And Joy recognized the majority of them.

So naturally, the one she did _not_ recognize from a previous encounter in the field was the one who spoke up first. "Ah, Lord Cross. It is good to see that your time in the field fighting heroic battles has not put you above us."

The Lawbringer shook his head with a faint snort. "Lord Rottdal, your duty this year was no slight."

"Perhaps, but there was much glory to be won in the field, won using some of my men."

Joyeuse got her first real look at the man, a Conqueror who had taken a noble house's name for himself after conquering them and marrying the sole surviving daughter of that family. Lord Karl Rottdal, known by the demonic moniker Belial, was also the most fancily dressed of the warlords. He still wore armor, but had worn a doublet _over_ said armor. It was the only time since she had come to Ashfeld that Joy had seen such complicated, intricate, vibrant - _wealthy_ \- patterns on the clothing worn by the elite.

"You were not the only one away from the battlefield," another voice cut in, a woman's. Eyes turned towards one of the corners, opposite of Truffe's choice of seat, to the ex-Peacekeeper with twin angels on the tabard she wore over her tightly fitted gambeson.

"Maybe, Lilith," Belial remarked as he folded his arms, "but you at least had the battle of diplomacy, while I simply rode between garrisons."

"Hey, you did chase down some raiders that went for Lecce," cut in another woman in full brigandine with only her right arm covered in plate components - Merihem. "There's glory there."

He shrugged. "Perhaps, but killing a few half-naked marauders is hardly a story."

"Uh huh," Merihem rolled her eyes, made visible by the fact that her kettle helmet lacked a faceplate. "Anyways, aren't we one short? We seem to be lacking our lazy architect."

"Probably realized that he forgot his maille," Truffe offered as he stretched his massive girth in the throne he sat in, arms reaching past where Stone had been standing next to him. The Conqueror leaned back to avoid the sudden arm in his face. "Give it until he pages a servant for it!"

"Does he even _have_ a page?"

Truffe shrugged at the merchant woman's question, bringing his arms down as Stone just pushed his left arm out of the way. "Do you think he could get dressed without one?"

Another warlord interrupted, speaking from beneath his flat topped helmet with a cross on the face guard. "And your clothes do not burst from your second helpings? Your gluttony will be the death of you."

Joy heard Cross growl beneath his own helmet, and she understood why as she looked at who has spoken. Orobas, born Martin von Eisleben, had long ago traded the red on white of his Temple Legion serving family for the Blackstone's black and orange, yet still his surcoat that fell almost to his ankles was blazoned with a thick cross on both sides, and every other piece of armor he had that had a surface large enough also had a either cross painted on or embossed.

At that moment, the door opened and there were three new entries. Apollyon herself, followed by the missing member of the seven subordinate warlords. Just as Davis had said a few days ago, Mulciber had put on a mail shirt over his doublet, though he substituted a helmet for his black chaperon, meaning he was the only one besides the heralds and Merihem who had a visible face. Behind them was Captain Salavander, who followed Mulciber as he made his way to his seat.

"Good morning, everyone," Mulciber greeted as he looked around. "Even you, Commander Stone! The castellan saw to your men, yes?"

"He did," the former Iron Legion commander answered as he took his seat. "Had to find him first, though."

"Ah, it happens. So, to business?"

Apollyon gave the barest hint of a nod, and they all took their places around the table.

The mistress of the legion sat at the fore, an open air balcony behind her. Holden Cross sat directly to Apollyon's right, first on that side, with Joyeuse taking her position to the Lawbringer's left. Past them, Mulciber sat down with Salavander as his second. Third down the table was Lilith, the only one who had come alone besides Apollyon. Stone was awkwardly in the corner at the end, Sir Edward behind him as Harrowgate's former commander had to make due with a smaller chair.

Truffe sat opposite of Apollyon, a brutish thug of a Conqueror standing behind him and leaning against that throne. Then up the other side of the table towards the Blackstone Legion's master was Merihem and her second, who had similar armor to her but with the distribution of plate on the arms more even. Then there was Belial, his second a young man standing behind him wearing the exact same heraldry, and at last Orobas and his squire. The latter had a similar overabundance of crosses on his armor, if on a tabard rather than a surcoat.

"Today we deal with the lands of Ashfeld that we have taken in our campaign, and how to divide them. But first, we have several newcomers to our midst. First, the woman whose exploits you have all heard of." Apollyon nodded to Joy. "I trust you can introduce yourself."

Of course she could. "Dame Joyeuse Maylis, of Sandshore Castle," she introduced herself as she bowed her head.

"A Royal this far north?" Belial remarked as he tilted his head. "Interesting."

"Since you are willing to speak, perhaps you can introduce the second newcomer?" Apollyon remarked, leaning an arm against the table.

"Of course, though it is only the other newcomers who do not know my son." Belial turned and nodded to his second, who bowed with practiced grace.

"Sir Albrecht Rottdal, eager to win his spurs."

_How young is he?_ Joy wondered as his voice seemed too high pitched for a knight. Then again, by the traditional path of knighthood she would still be a squire. Prodigy or not, who was she to say anything about his youth?

"And of course," Apollyon let her gaze fall on the Iron Legion Conqueror, "Harrowgate's former commander: Stone."

Stone dipped his head. "It was a surprise to be here, but a welcome one. This is Sir Edward Dyeway, one of Harrowgate's knights." As Stone gestured towards his acting second, and the other former Iron Legion knight bowed his head as well.

"To be brief, know that I allow whisperings between those in attendance, should there be a matter you need to discuss," Apollyon explained as she looked to them. "Your courtesy is between each other, and any offense you give is yours alone. You may interject, but you do so at your own peril."

Joy frowned, glad that she had her helmet on, as that seemed to be a very odd choice for decorum. _What isn't odd here?_ She decided as she dismissed the thought.

"Now then," Apollyon returned her gaze towards Stone, "before we begin dividing flocks, we should recognize that one newcomer is to be a peer."

And with that, all the attention in this room fell onto the former Iron Legion commander, who shifted in his seat. Though his expression was masked by the helmet, Joy somehow suspected he was glad to have it. She would have felt uncomfortable under that much focus, especially after being freshly introduced. And had Apollyon called him a peer?

"Excuse me, master," Belial started as he turned to look at her. "I may have misheard you, but did you call this Iron Legion dog a _peer_?"

"You heard correctly."

Silence lingered in the room as Joy's head turned between Stone and Apollyon until at last, she started smiling as she caught on. So did the others.

"Wait, we're taking on a new warlord?" Truffe asked, tilting his head towards the man sitting next to him.

"Is he even worthy?" Orobas demanded as he folded his arms.

"I suppose it was past due," Merihem shrugged as she put her gaze firmly on the Conqueror.

"Are you kidding me?!" Belial roared loudest, "You're elevating this _dog_ to a warlord? Are you going to give him the new lands as well?!"

"Considering how you became 'noble'," Truffe snorted, "that's fucking rich!"

"At least I seek to better my station, pig!"

"Enough!" Apollyon countered, staring the council quiet. She had not needed to shout - the sheer intensity of her voice did what volume might do otherwise. As soon as the war room fell silent save for a few quiet exchanges between Merihem, Belial, and their seconds, Apollyon turned her gaze to the man she was elevating.

"Tell me, Stone. Do you want to take lands in northern Ashfeld? Or even to the south; Ghorst's Hold has no owner."

Merihem raised a hand. "Might I remind you that Ghorst's Hold is vital to trade, master?"

"You might, but let us hear the ambitions of our new warlord."

"What ambition could he…" Belial muttered angrily, but stopped before he finished. The room remained silent for a few more moments after.

"Well," the Conqueror started as he reached for the neck of his surcoat and tugged once. "I'm honored, of course, but my people are at Harrowgate, and Sir David Hawthorne already stewards the sanctuary."

"Of course, you would not be the first warlord to deny a prize." Apollyon glanced towards Orobas at that, "but I think you do so for a different reason."

Stone shrugged. "I've been fighting from Harrowgate since I became Iron Legion. It's as home as I'm going to get."

"So it is." Apollyon leaned forward, and pointed towards the map, gesturing around the rough approximation of the former Iron Legion holdings in Ashfeld and many of the independents in southern Ashfeld. "I leave it to you to continue your command over the lands the Iron Legion once controlled, and that of the petty lordlings who frequent the area. How you organize and divide it further is up to you, as long as you bring warriors where they are needed."

"I…" Stone started as he tilted his head. "So, you're basically making me an Iron Commander?"

Apollyon's answer was a snort. "Holden, I think you can explain better."

The Lawbringer nodded, then looked to the Conqueror who had served under him the last season. "Yes and no, Commander Stone. Since the Iron Legion has withdrawn from Ashfeld, such a position at Harrowgate no longer exists. However, as a Blackstone Warlord you stand equal with your fellows, and if charged to protect an area the warriors within fall to your command, to be organized as you see fit."

"Huh," Stone leaned back in his seat. "Yeah, I can work with that. Alright, I'll handle southern Ashfeld. Thank you, master." He bowed his head after the hasty addition to his liege lady.

"Not all of it, I presume?" Merihem chimed in as she looked to Apollyon. "After all, there are some territories too important, and already abandoned by the Iron Legion."

"Still after more gold?" Truffe asked as he glanced at her.

"You say it as if you do not want the farmlands around Tholen." She received a conceding shrug as an answer.

"Which I lay claim to!" Orobas growled as he leaned forward. "And the most pressing concern, given such a holy place was desecrated by those pagan monsters for decades."

"Says the man who proudly bears a demon's name," Cross growled as he pressed his fists against the table. "You only want Tholen because you think controlling it will make you more pious."

"And if the Palace of Justice fell under our control, would you not claim it as you are a Lawbringer?"

Joy tensed, keeping an eye on the second opposite of her with her commander's rival, who likewise was eying her. Though in such meetings Joy really was more of an observer, if Cross had orders, she had to be ready to carry them out.

"Can you two just fight already?" Lilith groaned, suddenly interjecting into the conversation as she rested a hand against her forehead. "For God's sake, you two hate each other."

"Be wary of invoking the Lord's name in vain, particularly given your history," the former Temple Legion knight warned as he let his gaze shift to the former Peacekeeper.

"Well, Holden," Apollyon asked as she turned her head towards him. "Do you want to command Tholen, in addition to your responsibilities at Redflow and as a Lawbringer? Or do you have another candidate in mind?"

Cross looked to his master, and Joy quickly noticed that a few sets of eyes had fallen on her. _Would he put me up for the role?_ She wondered as she glanced at the Lawbringer for a moment before he backed down into his chair.

"Redflow Castle is more than enough for me, but Tholen will be the frontline against any new invasion by land. However holy the site is, I think the last half-century has proven that it takes more than a priest's blessings to repel a Raider's axe."

"So who would you support, then?"

As his master's demand came, Cross glanced to the others, then settled his gaze on the man next to him. "Lord Vulcan also has no large estates to his name, and at this point we have all trusted him with running our own while we go on campaign. That trust is long overdue to be better rewarded, and no one else amongst us knows fortifications as he does."

"Hey, I already got enough to deal with!" Mulciber cut in as he threw his hands up. "Do you realize how much work goes into keeping all your estates stable while you're all off cutting beards?"

"You do not have to directly govern," Lilith remarked as she lazily turned her head towards him. "I'm sure you can think of some suitable governor to keep an eye on."

"Which I'll be doing anyways," he added before looking at Orobas, "And I know how much this means to you. I remember how much it meant to Lady Helena."

"Exactly!" Orobas finished as he stood, turning to each as he spoke. "We all remember our diligent fourth warlord, sent to Heaven's embrace before she could fulfil the legacy of her father and grandfather before her. Though last of her line, she desired to see Tholen's abbey restored, a holy task for any of Ashfeld. A task I would see finished!"

Cross growled again as Joy looked down, then he looked back up at her as Orobas continued, whispering to her. "Wherever he governs for more than a month, there's always an uprising."

"Too puritanical in faith?"

"And acts as if he is a Lawbringer in such matters."

Joy nodded once. "Doesn't Ashfeld have a patriarch?"

"Yes, but he may as well be an anchorite."

Which meant that the most viable compromise was out of the question, if the Blackstone Legion would have even trusted a man of the cloth to govern. _Then again, it's not like my family is much better,_ Joy decided as she was reminded of her mother's own complaints about the local bishops.

Orobas was still in his monologing speech as that quiet exchange finished. "... so I say, let my valiant and faithful warriors take this duty. You all have seen our worth time and again. Let us be the aegis of Ashfeld, and see the Warborn break against our shields!"

"Are you done?" Apollyon asked, leaning her head back briefly, leaving Joy to wonder if the former Warden was rolling her eyes.

_She probably is_ , Joy decided since she herself was fighting down that urge, even though she knew her helmet would keep it from being seen. Somehow, she suspected Orobas was usually verbose in his rhetoric.

"All that needs to be said has been said," Orobas answered before looking around, hands held open to his sides, "unless one of you would challenge it by arms? Do any of you desire to defy a laysword of God in this matter? Do you have such a desire, Asmodai?"

Cross growled as he was pointed at, rising and pressing both hands against the table to let his burly height speak for itself. Joy stood ready behind, letting her hand fall onto Dusk's hilt so it was clear she had his back. And as the Lawbringer pressed, she suddenly felt keenly aware that his helmet was concealing fury.

"Be wary of bringing God into your rhetoric, Martin," the Lawbringer warned slowly but steadily, carefully enounciating each word. "Many a cultist has claimed His favor in their endeavors, and yet blind justice struck them down as easily as any northman."

The war room fell silent, all eyes on the two warlords facing off with each other. Joy wished she could interject, but what could she say? Orobas was prideful, but she did not know him well enough to question his worth as a governor. All she would be able to say was that she was behind Cross, which was obvious anyways as she was his second.

"Be wary of blind rage, good Lawbringer. Few can stop it once it has begun, even he who wields it."

The room remained silent as they stared at each other for a few more moments, then Orobas back looked across the room. "So, who would you all see take this holy task?"

Lilith was the first one to speak up, folding her arms as she leaned back in her seat. "I take my usual silence."

"And I'm not repeating myself," Mulciber agreed, then looked towards the end. "Truffe?"

"Eh, if he wants it, fine. There's other farmland."

Merihem was next to speak up. "As long as he doesn't get in the way of trade, he can have it."

"I have my own thoughts and considerations," Belial admitted as he glanced to his son briefly, "but if you feel so strongly about this, then why not?"

That left Cross and Stone to speak up, and Stone looked to Cross as well. The Lawbringer inhaled to steady himself, then spoke. "If that is what this council wills, so be it. You invoked Lady Helena to argue for this," he added as he fixed his gaze on Orobas. "Remember her diligence as you govern, and how she ruled fairly."

"Of course, I would give no less to such a holy endeavor."

Apollyon glanced between the two before speaking up. "Well, that was easier than it should have been."

_She sounds disappointed,_ Joy noticed, finding herself frowning. _Shouldn't she be glad that her direct vassals came to an agreement?_

"Next question," Belial asked as he placed a hand on the table, "exactly _which_ lands are being granted? I can think of a few worthy candidates for some of the forts in the area."

"We all can," Cross growled as he looked between them, "But that is a detail for once we have determined who has rights. First, we define how much land we tie to this grant of Tholen."

And so the meeting continued, the various warlords bantering and arguing as to which territories would be part of Orobas' new domain. Tholen was a prestigious holding, which influenced much of northern Ashfeld just by how many roads connected to it. That it would be the foreground against future Warborn attacks only made it more so, and the forts along the way became a hot topic of debate.

Though individual candidates for specific forts came up as they were pointed out on the map, Cross cut all discussion of that off. "Orobas will make his own vassals" was what the Lawbringer said before asking whether the castle discussed should even be part of that territory.

It was far different from any claim argument that Joy had ever seen in Sandshore. There had been some titles left open by no legal heir, but those arguments had always been about _which_ candidate was worthy of replacing the past owner. What lands would be tied to it was never a topic, as there was never a reason to change the existing structure. All those vassals needed was a new liege.

Fortunately, the young Warden was not asked to give an opinion over the affair, allowing her to act as an observer to this debate of the high society she was born into. Yet the meeting lost its formality as it went on, becoming arguments between the warlords with some like Belial more vocal than others like Truffe. Stone in particular had remained silent, staying in his corner, and there was one more voice conspicuously absent.

Apollyon had stepped out of the debate entirely, waiting at the balcony as her warlords continued to argue amongst themselves. Much as Joy wanted to step away as well to ask, she had to remain until Cross gave her permission to do so. Yet engrossed in keeping it on track, it was not until lunch came (Truffe warning as it approached with peculiarly accurate timing) that he had even noticed. And by then, they adjourned the meeting, to pick up where they left off later.

XXXXX

"So, what's in that letter? You keep rereading it."

Joy glanced up as she was sitting in one of the side halls at the top of the fortress. They had retired to the main hall to take lunch, eating at a long table that had been set up with more than enough room for them all. Most of the warlords sat up towards the front of the table, while the seconds ate towards the opposite end. Joy ended up sitting next to Stone, towards the middle of the table.

"This is one I really have to answer," she explained as she exhaled, other conversations continuing around them. "And I'm not sure how."

"Can I ask? You never said who the fist sigil belonged to."

It took Joy a moment to decide as she glanced down at the letter again, wondering if perhaps she should keep it to herself, before shrugging and setting it down. "It's from one of my family's vassals, Baron Guillaume Deveraux of Blackhawk Castle. He was a ward at Sandshore as he grew up."

"A friend?"

"Yes, though my mother intended for it to be more..." Joy found herself glancing down at the letter again, given that it was all about that intent.

_Dear Joyeuse,_

_I pray that you are in good health as you receive this letter, and have found the happiness you sought in a knight's life. If the stories that have come from Ashfeld are even half true, you have more than cemented your place in your family's annals as a heroine. My loss has been Ashfeld's salvation, but I still hold onto hope._

_You left Sandshore as your mother sought to arrange our union, seeking to live up to the title you had earned in Anastasis. For what it is worth, I would have respected your decision had you asked. Much as I would have been blessed to take the hand of a woman of such courage, I know that you did not become a Warden just to settle down immediately after, even if it was to rule as Valentia once did. Your strength of will and character remains an inspiration as I deal with the role left to me by my father's family._

_Even though it was your mother's ploy to keep you from what she feared, I still believe that we have a future together. We have both grown for the better. I am not asking you to return now, your oaths to the Blackstone Legion must be honored, but when you feel the time is right I will be waiting. If I am lucky enough to be worthy of your choice, it will be worth every moment apart._

_Forever an ardent admirer, Guillaume_

"Look, if it's personal I can back off."

"No, it's not really secret," the Warden added as she looked back to the Conqueror. "But if my mother had her way, I would be Joyeuse Deveraux."

It took a moment for Stone to comprehend what she meant, and he ended up leaning back in his seat biting his lip. "Oh. I didn't realize that you were betrothed."

Despite the discomfort the topic brought out, she managed a faint smile. "I'm not. I left before it was agreed on. He is holding out for me, though."

"Smart guy."

"Brave, loyal, kind. You would never realize that he was born a bastard."

"Huh." The Conqueror raised an eyebrow at that, glancing across the table quickly before turning back to her. "Well, we talked and teased, but if you'd rather not I can save the poetry. I mean, you're well above my station anyways."

"I'd still listen," she answered as she felt her smile lengthening. "Besides, courtly love is about _spiritual_ fulfilment regardless of our condition." She reached a hand over onto his. "I trust your intentions, good knight."

He smiled, glancing away as she saw his cheeks starting to redden. "Lucky me." He blinked, cleared his throat, and looked back at her as he lifted his hand. Joy took the cue to take her own back. "Though uh, I kinda figured this would just be some fun, you know?"

She nodded. Perhaps it was too discussed to really be courtly romance, but if this was to be her first true foray into it, perhaps that was for the best. She had been flirted with as she made her way to Ashfeld, but she was on the road again before any could really lay into the ritual and drama that such love entailed. But now that she was sworn to a legion, the same as Stone? Just because he was self-aware enough to not expect anything did not mean...

_No, I have a responsibility,_ she reminded herself and shoved the thought aside. This was emotion alone - and besides, if it continued as it had started it would probably end up being gentle mockery of the staples she had been taught in her youth than anything. And now as she felt her stomach fluttering - and not from the almost finished lunch - she decided it was time for a change of topic.

"Anyways, so what are you going to do now that you have the rank the Iron Commanders denied you?"

"I'm not sure," Stone admitted as he leaned back, grabbing his cup and taking a drink before continuing. "I mean, the lordlings accepted me as a garrison commander for Harrowgate and trusted me enough to send men, but as a liege lord?" He shook his head.

And now Joy suddenly felt herself wishing that she had perhaps considered her mother's lessons more closely than she had. Stone had practical experience, but he never had anything resembling an education for governing.

"If you want my advice," she paused for a moment, "Or rather, if I repeat my mother's, start by meeting them."

"Meeting them?" Stone shifted, leaning a hand on his knee. "It can't be that simple."

"No, but it is a chance to hear their concerns. Even if all you can do is politely listen, you can show that you care. That they can turn to you if they need to."

"And if they can turn to me, they have a reason to listen." He nodded. "Anything else?"

"I could keep reciting lessons from memory, but we would be here all day." And to be fair, Joy was not sure she even remembered them consciously. Had her upbringing been that excessively martial?

"And neither of us wants that," the lowborn knight chuckled, interrupting her quiet concern. "Alright, I'll try that. It can't hurt, and I should meet them anyways."

She smiled again. He had enough to figure out the rest, or at least find someone who could teach him. "Exactly, and doing it at their estates has its own advantages."

"Probably. Though getting used to the rank will probably be the biggest challenge." He shrugged, then looked back to his plate. "Anyways, we should probably finish eating."

Glancing at her own plate, yes that probably was for the best. The food was actually rather good here, though somehow she suspected the Shugoki-sized warlord further up had weighed in on that.

As they finished though, Stone glanced up the table again, then back to her. "So, all those fancier titles Royals use are about a power balance, right?"

Joy answered as she wiped her hands. "To keep _de facto_ and _de jure_ in harmony. Why?

"I'm kind of curious about how high I'd be if this wasn't Ashfeld."

Frowning, she leaned back into her own chair and put a hand on her chin as she considered it. Even if Stone didn't care, this was not an answer to give lightly. But as she thought back to the map and what she had seen of Harrowgate and beyond, a pretty clear answer emerged in her mind.

"I think, going by Harrowgate and its outposts, you would actually be a count."

"Huh," Stone admitted with a shrug. "Well, that's something."

"It is," she answered, distracted as she looked further up the table as the realization had led to a second one that followed it. If Harrowgate and what Ashfeld's Iron Legion chapter had left was a county, then what did that make _Apollyon_ ruler of now that most of Ashfeld - other than a few chunks to the west and south held by minor legions - was under her control?

Joy could not be certain, but if she was right?

"Excuse me," she said as she pushed herself back in her seat, "I need to check on something."

"Huh? Oh, sure," Stone was frowning himself now, but said nothing else as she grabbed her helmet and gloves, rose, and left the dining hall.

XXXXXX

Despite the fact that many sovereign lords and ladies outside of Ashfeld were called Royals, in truth the Legions had had not seen a true kingdom for over a century. Any realm big enough to be worthy of such a title rarely lasted long, and when it inevitably fractured the title was retired with it. There had of course been hundreds of petty kingdoms, men in tiny hill forts only king by being independent. Naturally, this led to unnecessary bloodshed as they realized being king meant nothing if it was so easy to become one.

Those petty kings, including Joyeuse's own ancestors, had recognized their sordid state when they become signatories to one of the Iron Legion's greatest triumphs. The Royal Treaty of Austrus, in which the signatories understood they could not all be king and set to try and live by their proper ranks. Their sovereignty remained, with the term Royal coming to apply to those who were sovereign and their families. It also alluded to the treaty's pledge: to keep _de jure_ and _de facto_ in harmony and let go of titles that became empty.

All this was in her mind as Joy reached her destination - the war room the summit was being held in. The guard let her through without challenge, and once inside she made her way to the table and looked at the map of Ashfeld. Thanks to its size it had far more detail than most maps, enough to cement the realization in her mind as she double and triple checked the map.

"You left in a hurry, Warden."

Turning sharply as her thoughts were interrupted, her hand instinctively fell to the hilt of her longsword before she stopped herself. Apollyon had followed her.

"I had to check something, master," she answered, glad that she had put her helmet back on. It obscured her face as she felt her cheeks heat up.

"And what did it tell you?"

Glancing at the map one more time, Joy inhaled to steady herself before answering. "That kneeling in your presence would be more appropriate than bowing."

"Ah, yes. You were born a Royal, with all the pointless titles and politicking that involves." The legion's master shook her head, gesturing a hand towards the balcony, and continued as they walked towards it. "Perhaps by some ancient scrap of paper, this makes me a queen. But really, what does title matter in the end?"

"What is the difference between a Warden and any knight with a longsword?"

"A better question might be what separates a Conqueror from any other knight," Apollyon asked back, resting her hands against the balcony now that they were against it. "A knight can be anything from barely worth acknowledging to a Warden's equal, yet somehow Conquerors are different?"

Frowning, Joy rested one of her hands against the railing as she looked out across Ashfeld. She wanted to say that Conquerors were just knights that happened to be lowborn, but the admittedly few Wardens born in the lower rungs of society were never given the honor of being a Conqueror. To say Apollyon was a Conqueror would be incorrect, as she had been knighted as a Warden before she could have earned that honor in the Blackstone Legion.

"Your silence speaks for itself," Apollyon continued. "We created all these complicated rules and norms and taboos about rank, status, where we stand in society. We come up with titles and words for these things. But in the end, what are they? A sign hung around the neck so civilization can put us into the box it made."

"And yet you spoke so highly of the order you once belonged to," Joy answered as her mind recalled their first true conversation. "You said that Wardens were true warriors. But if there is nothing separating me from any of your other knights, then what does my title mean? What does any title mean?"

"Nothing," the former Warden pushed herself to her full height. "Everything."

Joy could only stare as she tried to process the blatant opposites that had just been given to her as an answer. Apollyon then elaborated further.

"Titles mean as much or as little as those who hear them. A knight sees the Warden as the pinnacle of his nature, the Warborn see a knight with a longsword." The older woman paused for a moment, resting a hand on the pommel of her own weapon. "To us, any half-naked brute with a dane axe is a Raider. Yet even as we kill the pretenders by the dozen, we still call them Raiders."

"Because we do not understand the difference?" the young Warden asked as she wondered where this was going.

"Because we don't care to put meaning to it beyond what we see, even as we know how much more the Warborn imagine when they hear the word."

That still left her confused. This was nothing about title, but ignorance. "Very well master, let us say that I am ignorant and that I never actually fought a true Raider. What does that change if the 'Raiders' I fought were still capable of killing me?"

"Ah, good. You found it," Apollyon leveled one of the claw-like fingers of her gauntlet towards Joy's chest, towards the Warden's plate she wore. "What matters is the warrior, not what civilization calls them. Whether you are a Warden or just another knight, your skill is your own, and no one can strip that from you."

"And what about our oaths?" Joy asked as she found her footing again, glancing between the helmeted woman facing her and the finger she had pointed at her. "A Warden's oath is distinct from that of a Lawbringer, and Conquerors swear no oaths but those all knights swear."

"Live up to them, if that is what you desire." Apollyon lowered her hand, shrugging. " _Earn_ the respect that the title is supposed to give you. Otherwise, it has no meaning."

Nodding once, more to herself than anything, Joyeuse now understood the lesson being imparted to her. Title was important, but only if the one who held it lived up to it. A bandit leader calling himself king from a hillfort was king only by his own self-aggrandizement, especially compared to someone with Apollyon's power.

So it was with being a Warden: that only meant what it did as long as Joy lived up to what that mantle meant. It was no work of craft to be completed, but a vocation until death. If she intended to be worthy of the respect the title conveyed, she had to live up to it until duty's end.

"So," Apollyon continued as silence had fallen on their conversation. "What did you make of seeing all the Blackstone Legion warlords at once?"

"Volatile," she answered immediately, perhaps unguardedly. "I knew that there were disagreements, but to see them happen? Those are the disagreements that tear apart realms."

"Or temper them like steel. A little infighting keeps them sharp, and the ever looming threat of our violent history forces them to be wary in their games."

"Because they know the other might take it to the field?"

"For all Orobas likes to imagine himself as our holy inquisitor, the threat of Holden taking a poleaxe to his skull keeps him from purging our ranks."

"The threat of facing a Lawbringer should give anyone pause, but you are the master of this legion. If you know that it could fight itself, why did you step away from the meeting?"

Apollyon tilted her head towards her. "Because I do not care for their petty politics, as long as they fight like demons when I ask. Besides, Holden handles it better."

"Maybe, but you are shirking a responsibility."

"Hah," the former Warden snorted, "you really are highborn. Do you know what this really is, dame?"

Joy shook her head in response.

"Spoils," came the asked-for answer, "Whatever it may be, war produces a prize for the victors. I'm certain you have taken your share from your victories."

Joy glanced down at the pendant attached to her belt for a moment. "Not as much as you would think."

"Oh?" Apollyon turned, casually leaning her right elbow against the railing. "You mean to tell me in that during your journey to Ashfeld you never once looted a body?"

The Warden hesitated as she thought back to what was now mostly a blur. "A few things, mostly what I needed. Loose coin, a dagger, and in one case new rags for the month."

"Still, you understand the value of looting. That is all this is, splitting the loot of the campaign."

"Except it is not loot, but lands and the people in them."

"All argued over in a high tower, drawn as lines on a map. What really matters is what happens on the ground itself." Apollyon turned back, facing the vista before them with a bitter exhale. "But ruling nobles still act as if there is something greater to arbitrary lines."

She still did not know what to make of Apollyon's odd positions on governing, but as silence fell again she realized this was as good a time as any - and a welcome distraction from the thoughts it was provoking.

"Speaking of ruling lords, master, I received a letter from home. My brother, now Count of Sandshore Castle, told me to relay a message."

"Told?" Apollyon tilted her head at the choice of words. "You see yourself beholden to him?"

"I am sworn to the Blackstone Legion, but I am still a Maylis."

Apollyon scoffed, but said nothing more on that. "So, what was the message?"

"He said that he cannot offer the Blackstone Legion the same fealty we once offered the Iron Legion, but he still wants you to have his regards, from one sovereign to another."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, master."

Apollyon remained silent for a moment as she mulled over the message, until the warlord finally answered. "Well then, tell him the message is heard, if you write back."

"I will, master," Joy turned as well, though she remained standing. "I have another question, if you would hear it."

"Speak."

"Why did you elevate Stone? He is more than worthy, but that seemed to anger the others."

"Let them fume, it is their complacency leaving. They have grown too comfortable thinking that being a founder ensures their position." Apollyon turned her head to face Joy directly. "They need to remember that they can be replaced."

A heavy footfall cut off any response, as both women glanced to the side to see a familiar Lawbringer stepping out onto the balcony, a letter in hand.

"Ah, Holden," Apollyon's tone suddenly lightened. "Is it time already?"

"Soon, but a messenger from my order arrived." The Lawbringer approached, handing an opened letter to Apollyon.

She took it and read it over, exhaling as she finished. "So, the first rebellion is already being plotted."

Joyeuse sighed. Always a scheme at play.

"So it is," Cross continued as he glanced between them, before settling his focus on Apollyon. "Now, this Lord Thomas Easthart may just be testing the waters, but a swift chastisement from you should rectify that. If he does form this 'Ascendant Legion' on Ashfeld's southern border, others could exploit the opportunity."

"Yes, yes, the Temple Legion might take them to edge closer to Ashfeld, or maybe one of the legions in Austrus will make a land grab." Apollyon shook her head. "Let him plot."

Joy turned in place, feeling a twitch run through her body as what was just said hit her. "Master, shouldn't we deal with this? If he rebels when the Warborn return, he would divide our focus."

"Then he will be dealt with as your previous paymaster was," Apollyon waved her hand, handing the letter back to Cross. "I will not chase after every pampered brat with delusions of supremacy. If he draws his sword against this legion, he will feel my wrath. If not, then I have nothing to fear."

Cross grumbled as he took the letter back, but said nothing as Apollyon strode past him. "I think it is time we continued splitting the spoils," she said as she rested a hand on the archway that separated the balcony from the main hall. "Before Beelzebul empties the larder."

"Very well, master," Cross answered as he dipped his head, and Apollyon left of the room entirely. Then he looked to Joy. "So, Warden, why did you leave in a hurry?"

"A realization I had when talking to Commander Stone, sir. With most of Ashfeld under Blackstone control, it is almost a kingdom again."

"If we can keep it together, then we can talk about Ashfeld being one land again," the Lawbringer shook his head. "There are far too many problems to deal with before we can even think of that. With the sudden expansion of territory, keeping order will be difficult."

Given the number of brigands that Joy had heard about from the others, she could believe it. "We have at least a month, maybe two, before winter hits Ashfeld. What are we going to do?"

"After this summit?" Cross looked out past the balcony for a moment. "First, I need to return to Redflow Castle and see to its wellbeing. By then, we should have a better understanding of where we are needed most."

And what better place was there for a Warden to be than where she was needed most?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the greatest things I disliked about how laconic the campaign was is that we never really got to see the inner workings of the Blackstone Legion and how their rule changed Ashfeld. And with the rest of a year plus until near-winter of the next, there are numerous opportunities to explore as to just why the Warden stuck around despite apparently deciding Apollyon was the wrong master for the execution of deserters. I wanted to explore all that, even if admittedly there is only so long it can be strung out until the inevitable at Sverngard.


	13. Desires of Home

"So, did Alberic find any new recruits?"

"A few," Stone answered after Joy asked him that question. They had come to the balcony of The Shard's keep, looking out at the sunset.

"It's just the first day," Joy offered as she noticed the Conqueror frowning. "Alberic can probably find some more."

"Eh, maybe. I'm not getting my hopes up though. Orobas' knights are going to do their own recruitment drive tomorrow, and they have the promise of glory and loot fighting the Vikings."

"Maybe, but not everyone fights for that."

"Yeah…" the Conqueror trailed off.

The afternoon had been dedicated to finishing what they started, and the legion's warlords had determined what lands would be Orobas' to grant and hold from his new seat of power at Tholen. Perhaps in counterweight given the rivalry, the summit had given Cross lands to grant at his discretion in the eastern moors. The rest would be determined in the next few days, with a particular look towards the westernmost territories.

"Anyways, enough about politics," the Conqueror exhaled and shook his head. "We've been at it all day, let's do something else before dinner."

She turned her head the other way. "Do you have something mind?"

"That depends, do you like poetry?"

"Oh, and what poem did you have in mind?" Her answer was rather automatic, the proper response to the question posed in courtly romance.

The Conqueror briefly covered his mouth to clear his throat, then started. _"Far to the west, past the spires of dragons into Argonne's lowlands, starts a maiden knight's test."_

Stone stopped his lower toned voice there, and Joy felt herself smiling. When courting, the tradition was to start the poem and go on enough that the other could, if they knew it, identify the poem. Or in this case, a ballad.

" _On that spring morn, Isolde awakes to a cruel Viking's horn,"_ Joy continued, her tone softer and far more practiced at the ballad's pace and tone. Continuing was the proper answer to say that you knew the poem, and she knew what was expected of her.

"Hah," he smiled, "I figured you'd know that one."

"It's still my favorite. If I had to pick one song that put me on this path, it would be Isolde's ballad. The sheer courage it took her to not only defend her home, but then leave it behind? To become a knight against the laws of her petty homeland? I wish I had that kind of courage."

"You do, don't you?" Stone frowned at her answer. "I mean, you left home to come here."

"As a Warden, and with help from my brothers," Joy answered as despite the topic she found herself smiling. "Isolde was not even a page and everyone was against her, but she left anyways." The smile faded. "And when she returned to once again defend her homeland from a Viking attack, they still refused to recognize her valor."

"Yeah, the Grail Legion has some really backwards laws, don't they?"

"And they still insist they guard a kingdom," she exhaled as she shook her head, mirth leaving her face. "A petty kingdom in more ways than one."

Chuckling, Stone shook his head. "I bet they take that well."

"They don't, but the truth must be spoken. That they throw down the gauntlet to try and deny it is their failing, not ours."

"Uh, right. Good to know." He reached for the back of his neck as he hesitated, then went on. "Still don't get why the bard said to start with it, given how it ends."

"Oh, and why did you start with that?"

"Well, you are a young Warden."

Joy gently poked him in the arm. "Playing to my station, good knight?"

"Heh, well, why not start with that?" he admitted as he waved a hand idly. "If the boot fits and all."

"There are several poems of a heroic maiden knight, and you choose the one where she is eaten by a dragon?"

"I said I wished it ended- wait, what?" Stone blinked as it hit him, "Did you just say 'eaten by a dragon'?"

"It was the version of the story my mother told me," Joyeuse explained, though trying to keep herself from laughing at the stupor that had crossed his face she ended up saying it with a grin.

"And you thought you'd tease me," he added as he frowned - and kept pushing that frown further. "My fair lady, taking advantage of a poor suitor's ignorance."

Much as she tried to keep a straight face, especially given the direction it was going, she couldn't keep it in against his pout. She giggled, looking away as she shook her head. "You act, so… so…"

"Overdramatic?"

She looked back to see Stone had wiped the exaggerated frown from his face, and a corner of his mouth had curled up in a half smirk. She had to admit it, he had played the role to part.

"Let's go with that," she finally decided. "Though yes, it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up."

"That's how we started this," he leaned against the balcony railing, though his grin gave way to disbelief. "But, a dragon?"

Joy shrugged, though her smile had faintly remained. "When a mother tries to convince her daughter to not become a knight, she plays to a child's fear of the monster under the bed."

"Right, the bard said the ballad gets turned into a morality tale. But still, a _dragon_? She probably got trampled by a longship full of half-naked savages."

"Likely, but that's not really inspiring. And if you want to horrify, why make it so..." she hesitated to choose a word, "mundane?"

"Yeah, I think I'll stick with it being an uplifting song with a sad but ambiguous ending," the Conqueror reached for the back of his neck again. "So, uh, your mother. She tried to talk you out of being a Warden?"

"She never wanted me to be a knight at all. And yet..."

Closing her eyes, Joyeuse's mind wandered to the third letter she had received. She had put off reading it as she knew who it had come from. She had dreaded the inevitable scolding her mother would give, by letter only because she could not just pick up and ride after her. The previous night, the night Stone had arrived at The Shard with the letters, Joy had wrestled with reading it in the privacy of her bedroom.

By candlelight she had hesitated, rereading the other letters to put it off, until finally she gave into the inevitable and read it. That it had not been what she expected had not made it an easier read, but it was one she had to read regardless.

_Dearest Daughter,_

_I write to you having heard of your exploits, and the legionary service you have found in Ashfeld. These words should have been spoken in person, but that is not to be the case. So please, indulge your mother's worries and read this letter. It is the best, and least, I can do for my only daughter._

_The Lord saw fit to bless you with martial prowess, but it was you that became a Warden. Sir Lancel may have taught you from his own mastery, but it was your dedication to your training and belief in devoting yourself to a higher purpose that saw you a knight at such a young age. And as my daughter became the pinnacle of what it meant to be a noble knight despite her youth, where was I? Scheming in the shadows to take that from you, to take you from a cruel world that needs heroes. All because because I was afraid._

_Every mother prays that her children find success in their lives, but every mother dreads what happens when her children go to war. Perhaps as I write these words in my study you lie in the mud, suffering with no one to comfort you in your final moments. Perhaps your bones already lie in a nameless grave, unmourned by those who love you in tragic ignorance. No matter the deeds you perform, that fear will never cease haunting my sleep. You made peace with that, but I never will._

_Yet for all that fear, it is past time that I accept the truth that was before my eyes. You were meant to become a Warden, and your honor is strong enough that I know you will live up to that burden. Yet you face this alone, far from those you can turn to. I am a woman of court, not war, but please read what I have to write. Even if the wisdom is of no use to you, please read what your mother would say in person if she could._

_Hold close what you believe and let no one take it from you. When all else has been lost, it will sustain you even in the cruelest of trials. Be courteous to men and women of rank, even if their actions do not deserve it, for it is the civilities that elevates you above the mob. And in turn look out for the lower orders as is your obligation of nobility, as they are the foundation that works for society. Your virtue is yours alone to guard, and so when your heart yearns for love it is better to court for a decade than marry in haste. And no matter your feats in life, remember that you have to die._

_Whether that aids you or not, I understand that you have found your calling. Perhaps one day, we will be fortunate enough to embrace each other as mother and daughter, at least once more. Until such a time write back to us as you find a way, but make your own path in Ashfeld. Let that hard country become your new home. Though you leave behind a family you love and are loved by, that is the life you have chosen. Do not look back with regret, go forward and give that land the hope it needs._

_But should fate bring you home to us, whether in honor or otherwise, we will be there to welcome you back. Despite growing accusations that you fled your royal duty, made even by my father, you are still a Maylis and you are still my daughter. Whatever disagreements we have had, that can never change. Even if you have grown past anything I could achieve, no matter what distant land you end up calling home, you will always be my brave little girl._

_With a mother's hope and love, Elaine Maylis_

It had taken the young Warden several readings to take it in, but that night her prayers had been for her mother - beseeching God to help her mother as Joy was now unable to being so far from home. And, for the first time since as long as she could remember, save for when her father had died, she had cried to sleep. Only this time the tears were happy. Bittersweet, but happy.

"Joy? Joyeuse?"

Blinking suddenly as she was shaken out of that reverie, the Warden looked back to the Conqueror she had been bantering with moments before.

"Sorry," she hastily answered as she felt her cheeks heating up, "it's just, it's just… she finally accepted what I am. The other letter from my family was from her, to tell me that."

Stone took a step back, glancing away briefly before he answered. "I know you said you have to answer that baron's letter, but if you had to pick one, write back to your mother. If you don't go home again, she deserves that closure."

Joy nodded once, but it masked a cemented realization that made her pause as she looked out.

_Home._ As a sellsword making her way to Ashfeld, she had not considered where she had served home. Even when she was serving in a garrison, even when she wintered, where she quartered was not home. Home had remained the castle of her birth.

But now that she was sworn to the Blackstone Legion, did that mean that Ashfeld was now her home?

"When did home change for you?" she suddenly asked, surprising herself at how blunt the question came out.

"Uh," Stone frowned at the sudden question. "What do you mean?"

"When did Harrowgate become home for you?" Joy elaborated as she realized that he could help. "Was it when you joined the Iron Legion, or sometime after?"

"Eh, I never really thought about it. I just considered the road ahead, and left home a memory."

"That was what I felt, freelancing my way towards Ashfeld," the young Warden admitted as she looked out at Ashford river flowing in the distance, the sunset reflecting off of it. "But at some point, you found a new home at Harrowgate."

The Conqueror shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, once I settled in for the long haul. But I didn't have anywhere else to go, even when I was made a Conqueror. You do."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to open those wounds."

"Nah, it's fine," he waved the issue away. "But you don't have to consider Ashfeld home to stay here."

"Maybe, but in her letter…" Joy hesitated as she was not sure how she specifically wanted to say this. "My mother told me to let Ashfeld become home. That I had made a choice by coming here, that I shouldn't look back with regret."

"Well, if you went back, what would happen?"

Frowning, Joy looked down at her gloved hands. On one hand, she wanted to say what she had told herself to keep going. That one day things would change and she could go home to Sandshore. That one day she would take her rightful place as amongst House Maylis' knights, to continue her service as a Warden to aid her family's subjects. That one day after having served honorably in a legion, she could return home to a heroine's welcome.

But on the other hand, what would really change? Joyeuse remained a Royal, a daughter of House Maylis whose hand in marriage was of political importance. If she returned, she would be called upon to fulfill her duty as a noblewoman to better her family's position. She would exchange martial exploits and battle for marital life and motherhood.

"What would have happened if I had stayed," the young Warden finally admitted as she felt a pit forming in her stomach, her voice almost a whisper as she stared ahead.

They fell silent as the Conqueror seemed to not really know how he wanted to broach the topic further, and Joy herself was not sure how she wanted to tackle it. Yes she desired to go home, to be with the family she missed, to laugh with her brothers in happiness and share the burdens they faced in adversity. But if she returned, she knew what would happen. Even Robert, much as he supported her dreams, would be faced with the burden of _his_ duties to both their house and the realm he now ruled.

_I can't ask that of him,_ she realized. If she returned but wanted to remain a knight, to remain true to her order, she would have to ask Robert to shirk his own duties. In a way she had already forced that of him by leaving. At least in Ashfeld, she could remain out of sight and out of mind, just as she had learned to live her days without constantly thinking of her those she left behind now that she was no longer with them.

And this left her a new question. If she was going to remain in Ashfeld and call it home, what was she going to do with her life? Apollyon was right, if she was content to simply serve she would have just stayed home. So, what did she want to do besides be a Warden?

Her thoughts were interrupted shortly afterwards as Sir Edward stepped up behind them, clearing his throat. The two turned to look at the knight from Harrowgate.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" the knight asked, frowning he noticed their expressions.

"Yes, but it can wait," Joy admitted as she realized this was not something she could figure out here and now. "Is something wrong?"

"No, but you two didn't notice the servant saying that supper is ready."

"Huh, that time already?" Stone glanced at Joy, then back. "I guess time _does_ fly when we're having fun."

She managed to smile. "Well, not the fun we expected, but that's the point of poetry."

Edward glanced between them again, then a grin slowly crossed his face as he looked at Stone, before he winked at Harrowgate's commander. Joy frowned as she felt she was missing something, but Stone cut it off quickly.

"Anyways, thanks Edward. We'll be there soon."

"Sure, sure, there's no rush. Forget I interrupted your suit!"

The former Iron Legion knight stepped away, though not before giving Stone one last grin as he turned to leave, and as he left Joy felt herself looking towards the ground, and she was not quite sure why.

"Anyways," Stone finally shrugged. "Maybe this is getting a bit too awkward. Try another poem?"

"Perhaps, good knight," Joy responded as she slipped into the expected role again, though she paused as she reconsidered and fell out of it. "Though, not right now."

"As you wish, my lady," he bowed his head slightly, though the gesture was at odds with the lax hanging of his shoulders as he usually carried himself. "At least until we've eaten?"

"Actually, I promised Sybilla that I would head back after we were done for the day. The other knights that accompanied Lord Cross are doing a chess tournament during the evenings, and I'm up against her next."

"Then I shall remain an ardent admirer, no matter this short separation."

They both paused as the Conqueror's face began to twist and Joy felt herself almost biting her lip. Was that how it actually sounded?

"Cack, how do you say that with a straight face…" Stone added as he broke into laughter, and Joy simply smiled with a shrug. Maybe it was fake just because Stone was too rough and ready for the ritual and drama of courtship. Yet somehow, it felt all the more real.

XXXXXX

"Checkmate!"

Exhaling, the young Warden shook her head and leaned back in her chair. "Well played, Sybilla. Well played."

"Hey, it was a close game," Rufus reassured as he was sitting next to her, slowly counting out several coins to pass to Davis as he had lost a bet. "I'm sure they'll sing of your valiant last stand, Warden."

"Be careful," she warned, though she kept a half smile on her face, "some may take praise as mockery."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"If you are done, I need to address something."

The gathered knights and accompanying rangers paused as their commander spoke up. Cross had been sitting quietly at the end of a table, looking over a map and a list of territories that the afternoon summit had left to him to grant.

"My lord?" Davis asked as he frowned from his seat. "What is it?"

"Counsel," the Lawbringer explained as he sat down the map and list he was looking at, then pushed it down the table. Geofrey, who had been reading a book, pushed it further along until it reached Davis.

"You want our suggestions on who to land, my lord?" Sybilla asked as she glanced at the parchment.

"More specifically, I want to ask Sir Davis how he feels."

Joy felt herself frowning for a moment before she realized what it meant.

"And what would you have of me, specifically?" Davis asked as he looked at the map, then back to the Lawbringer.

"Aurich is in need of a commander, and your have served well these past years. If you are willing," he paused there as a short chuckle ran through the common room, "I would have you take residence there, to rule that castle."

"Of course I would, my lord," Davis answered as he smiled at his spontaneous change of fortune. "Thank you, you are very kind."

Cross waved his hand. "It was long overdue, and you're a proven leader of men."

"Congratulations, _Lord_ Davis," Joy added as she looked to him, smiling.

"Thank you, Dame," he answered and soon the others were wishing him well, as Cross leaned towards Geofrey to tell the scribe to make a note. Informally it was done, in the morning they would do the scrollwork to make it a formal declaration.

"Do you have anyone else in mind, Lord Cross?" Frederick cut in suddenly, drawing attention if only because he was usually quiet.

"No one specific. Is this a request?"

Frederick shook his head, but Sybilla quickly came in with her own argument for Lord Guy, given his current holdings were destitute by the acid lake dominating Aemelianus. But Joy partially tuned that out, as Cross' specific phrase cut deeper than it should have. 'No one specific'.

_He knows my worth,_ she told herself. _He chose me as his second, why is it bothering me?_ She knew how it was: as a knight serving a legion she did not have to be landed. The legion would pay for her military upkeep, see to it she was fed and healed, and ensure her equipment was fully repaired. Or if it was lost to the enemy, they would see that she was refitted. She did not need an estate providing her rents so she could pay for it herself. It was not necessary for her to be given a fief-

Pausing as that thought crossed her mind, or perhaps the specific word she would describe it in, something suddenly occurred to her. While military upkeep was the legion's responsibility, keeping warm bodies loyal to use that equipment was another matter. A wage was the universal fallback any army could count on to retain soldiers, as honor could only go so far. Even conscripts could at least expect a token pay after their service, especially if they stayed in the ranks after their conscription was over.

And while she was effectively a conscript given how she had joined, she was also a knight. That alone entitled her to being rewarded for her service, no matter how she had been brought to arms. So why hadn't she been paid once the last several months?

Glancing around, she suddenly found herself envying what was happening. Joy knew that Sybilla was paid as her elder brother inherited the manor she hailed from. The rangers, keeping quiet to themselves as the discussion went on, were also supported by wages. Frederick was already landed in the Blackstone Legion's service, and Davis just had a whole castle given to him on top of prior wages. It was true that the newly elevated lord was going to spend the whole winter and more restorting it to provide rent after Apollyon's eviction of its Warborn occupants, but after that he was _set_. Why was she the only one who was serving for honor alone?

And that thought kept her quiet. How was she supposed to broach this topic in front of the others? Every way she tried to formulate it in her mind sounded petty, greedy, or simply unbefit her station as a Warden. She had to discuss it, but not in front of everyone.

Fortunately, the ongoing conversation did not last long. A few names come up, a few remarks about their fellow knights who had already stood down for the campaign or where garrisoned temporarily, and soon enough they put it aside. As they did and Rufus settled into his chess match with Frederick, Joy was able to excuse herself and head over to the far end of the table as Cross was checking the list Geofrey had written down for later.

"In the end, there are plenty more to consider," the scribe was saying as they went over it.

"I'll just listen to petitions. God knows the other lords will have an opinion," the Lawbringer agreed as he nodded, then stopped as he noticed Joy approaching. "Warden, is something wrong?"

"Yes," she said, hesitating for a moment. "Well, it depends on how you view wrong, but I need to ask you something."

Frowning, Cross gestured for her to sit in the empty seat opposite of the scribe. She had to step around to do so, but as she sat down she suddenly felt aware that the Lawbringer was evaluating her like it was an interrogation. Then again, that was his normal approach to questions.

"So, what do you need to ask about?" he finally asked, trying to relax his expression.

"It may just be an honest mistake, but," she hesitated, then took a quick breath and plunged. "Did you mean not to pay me during the campaign?"

The Lawbringer paused for a moment as he heard the rather quickly spoken words, jaw lowering slightly as he processed them before he leaned back in his seat, biting his lip and looking away.

"Each commander keeps men in their own way, but the Blackstone Legion issues wages after campaigns," Geofrey cut in, then elaborated. "It is easier to keep our wealth safe, than drag it with us."

_Okay, that makes sense,_ she decided. The others must have just known what they were supposed to do, while she forgot as many of her mercenary jobs were paid for after she finished the job rather than in an ongoing manner. "So, who do I speak to?"

"Right now, no one," Cross growled as his hands clenched into a fist. "I never informed the scribes of any wage for you."

That answered that, and she felt tension leaving her body even as her commander's face was hardening into a grimace. She had been right to ask as it was an honest error.

"Which begs a question," Geofrey offered. "Why only now? Why has no one caught this? We have had more than just Blackstones, and I lost count of the number of country knights demanding pay after they volunteered."

"Stone paid his own men from Harrowgate, so their scribes would not have been examining the record," the Lawbringer explained before he paused and frowned. "As for me, I must have lost track of it in the rest of the campaign."

"And I'm used to being paid at the end of my service," Joy added, hoping maybe it would reassure him. "Since I did not need to worry about paying Seneca or the other smiths to fix my equipment, I never thought to ask."

"That still does not answer how others did not realize this mistake," Geofrey continued to frown as he leaned over, sorting through his bag to find the relevant ledger. "If not the men, one of the army's scribes should have noticed you were not in the ledgers. I should have noticed it as I was checking the roster."

"She is a Warden," Cross explained at last with an exhale. "They most likely assumed that she was serving for honor alone."

"And I am honored to be part of the Blackstone Legion," though now this was where she felt herself hesitate again out of worrying of it sounding greedy. "But that does not mean I can live on honor alone."

"Certainly, and you have my apologies for not catching this," Geofrey continued as he found the ledger he was looking for and pulled it out, unsecuring it and opening the pages of names and numbers. "I will sort out what you are owed, Warden."

"I know you will, Geofrey," Cross reassured before he turned to look at Joy. "You will get your owed wages, but what about going forward?"

"What do you mean?" the young Warden found herself frowning.

"If I am to consider candidates, there is no reason your name shouldn't be considered." He paused for a moment, then shrugged. "Just take some time to think about it."

"I will," she said before bowing her head. "Thank you, my lord."

"And you, for asking." Cross leaned back and exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Horace is never going to let me hear the end of this."

XXXXX

Stone was early to the summit the next morning, hoping that he might catch Joy before the politics set in. Much as the conventions seemed like a purple prosed playwright's view of love, he had enjoyed their 'suit' as Edward kept insisting on calling it. Was it really courting if they were just going through the motions, as two friends having laughs at the expense of rituals and drama? Stone didn't think so.

"So, what is the warlord's plan today?" Edward asked as they stepped through the antechamber.

"See what happens," the Conqueror answered with a shrug. "I mean, Apollyon said we're basically in charge of what we had. Considering the state of our garrison?"

" _Your_ garrison," the noble knight added as he put a hand on his shoulder to make sure Stone looked at him face-to-face, or at least as best they could with their helmets on. "You need to consider that fact."

"And what does that really change? It just means I have a better arguing position when we're dealing with the quarries."

"True, but we are going to be Blackstone Legion knights. Considering you are now part of their council - _de facto_ if nothing else - maybe you should try to use some of that influence, _my lord_."

Stone exhaled. The other former Iron Legion knights, when he finally got back to their quarters, had been congratulating him on being officially made a lord by his promotion in the Blackstone Legion. And kept using the formalities when they spoke to him. He was not sure whether they were just getting used to it, or playfully giving him a hard time for his rise in station. Maybe it was just the price he paid for his style of command - friendship over the horsewhip - but he could deal with it. They needed the stress relief, and he could rein them in when it went too far.

And to be fair, Edward had a point. Stone had mostly just stayed silent the last day. But maybe he needed to start thinking like a lord, rather than a commander. Not that he really had any practice, but building bridges with his new peers besides Cross couldn't hurt. The question was, where to start?

Stepping into the war room, Stone received a brief 'good morning' from the only other warlord that had arrived already. Merihem was going over the map with her second, Jacque, talking about potential trade routes. Since no one else had shown up yet, Stone settled into a chair and waited. The others would show up soon enough, and as he sat down the door opened again, Belial and his son stepping in.

"Ah, Commander Stone! Good morning," the warlord and technically fellow Conqueror said as he walked over. Stone stood, partially out of habit, and Edward took a step to his left.

"Good morning," he answered back as he glanced at Belial, then to Albrecht, then back to the warlord. "I get the feeling you want to say something."

"Ah, I do. Given that Borun Castle is several days east of Harrowgate, we should be on better terms. We will be neighbors, and I am sure we both have interests to advance."

Stone folded his arms. "Rather abrupt change from calling me a dog, isn't it?"

"Ah, we all have our outbursts," he waved his hand trying to dismiss the matter. "But we are now both men of quality, having claimed what other knights," he put a glare towards Edward at that, "Well, we are now nobility by deeds, rather than birth."

Edward grumbled, but held his tongue. Stone knew why, but this was not the time either. "Alright, if you just want to be good neighbors that's fine. But I get the feeling you want more than that."

"Of course, I am the patriarch of a new dynasty, and father of a son," Belial turned so he could pat his son on the shoulder with a wide smile, "A son who has a glorious future ahead."

"So he does. What, you want to foist him onto Harrowgate since I'm undermanned?"

"An intriguing offer, but I already made arrangements with Orobas so he might test his mettle against the coming Vikings. Perhaps he will even claim estate for himself, before inheriting."

Stone could hear Edward's distaste again, and Belial caught it this time.

"I see your companion does not like me, Commander."

"You know what they say about Conquerors living down to the horror stories we'd learn as kids?" Stone asked as he glanced back to his second, then back to Belial.

Scoffing, the other warlord shook his head. "I am no tyrant, Sir Stone. Or should I say, Lord Stone."

"Either's fine."

"Still, perhaps you can come by Borun at some point? A hunt might do us some good, and we can talk about the future."

_No point burning bridges,_ Stone decided, though he could not help but shake a distinct feeling that Belial was not making nice in good faith. Maybe he was projecting the Iron Commanders' actions onto these warlords, or maybe he just took the dog comment a bit too personally. Either way, he answered: "We can discuss it later, but I have to see to my lands."

"Of course, you are new to being a _lord_ rather than just a garrison captain. Should you need advice, I will of course be willing to lend some."

_Why don't you flip me around and butter the other side?_ The former Iron Legion Conqueror thought as he dipped his head and did his best to keep a different tact. "Thank you, Lord Rottdal. So, what do you intend to argue for today?"

"Oh, that depends on the topic. If we aren't arguing over the border with the Greycloaks, I imagine it will be Ghorst's Hold."

"And who do you think should be in charge of the hold?"

"I already pledged my support to Merihem, since trade is vital and Savona is still independent."

"I was there, I know the arrangement."

"Ah, of course," he smiled as the door opened and Orobas stepped in, greeting Merihem briefly before taking his place. Belial glanced at him, then back to Stone. "Well, I won't keep you further. I should speak to Orobas, since we forgot to discuss my son's maintenance while he is with him."

Stone scoffed. 'To despise pecuniary reward' his backside. "Of course."

As Belial stepped away, his young son stayed put. The father and son looked at each other, then Belial nodded and moved on while Albrecht remained.

"Lord Stone," the young knight continued, "I would ask about your intentions."

"Intentions?" Stone felt himself frowning as he looked down at the young man - mostly by the difference of height.

"Indeed. Though the whole court saw your suit, I would ask if you have intentions with the fair Warden."

Edward chuckled before he tried to cover his mouth to stifle it (try being the operative word thanks to his helmet), and Stone tilted his head. Why was this a topic?

"Eh, we wanted to try it for a while. I mean, it's just two friends going at it, I don't think it's anything serious."

"Then you have no intentions?"

There was a change of tone; Stone could see the younger knight standing a bit straighter, a bit of spring as he then rocked his weight towards his heels and back.

"Look, I'm not really seeing how it's your business what two friends do," he finally growled. "But I'm not trying to look up her standards, if that's what you're asking."

"I understand!" the young knight held his hands up. "But it would do neither you nor my father any good for us to have a misunderstanding!"

Stone glanced at Edward, who shrugged back, before the Conqueror exhaled. "Alright kid. You asked and got an answer. Is there anything else?"

"Oh no, not at this moment. Actually, I would take my leave, if you have nothing."

"Just go," Stone grumbled. The young knight briefly dipped his head and left, returning to his father. And once his father finished talking with Orobas, the two began to whisper at greater length. He was not certain, but he had a sneaking suspicion that their conversation had to do with the time he spent with Joy the previous evening.

Resting a hand on the chair, Stone glanced at Edward. "Any idea what that was about?"

"I'm not _completely_ sure," Edward admitted as he looked at the door again. "But if I had to wager, I would say your suit is drawing attention. And perhaps, it draws attention to your lady."

"She's not my-" Stone stopped as he shook his head. "Forget it, it's probably nothing." Edward did not seem to think so, but said nothing as they settled in and waited for the day's politics.

It turned into more of the same from the previous day, with Ghorst's Hold being argued over as expected and going to Merihem as she had already made the political connections and concessions to get the other's support for it. Stone let it slide, though as it went further down south he started to push back.

That had drawn a few remarks about being greedy himself, given the Blackstone Legion had saved him. Cross had called that sentiment out, given he was in the same boat as the rest of them now. Some would be put in for new knights to be given estate, but where the rulers remained Stone was relatively easily able to talk them into letting them answer to him.

It helped considerably that many had looked to Harrowgate previously, as well as the fact that a number of minor legions like the Gryphon and Visage Legions had been left independent, so long as they recognized Blackstone supremacy in Ashfeld. That precedent gave him room, though the lingering question was one of loyalty as more than a few had simply sat back and waited the war out.

_Well, I can work on that,_ Stone decided as he considered the criticism. He was going to need to make sure they stayed in line anyways, why not try to talk them into committing to a stronger Ashfeld?

XXXXX

As that day came to an end, Joyeuse hesitated at a thick wooden door and asked herself if she was doing the right thing. She was going to ask Apollyon for advice on the question troubling her, about how to go forward in Ashfeld. Even with the interest Apollyon had shown, Joy had been apprehensive as she asked during a lull in the day's meetings. In most other realms, she would have had to work her way up the court and speak to a chamberlain, yet Cross had told her to ask directly.

And the warlord was quite willing to speak to her at length, even inviting the young Warden to speak to her in her quarters after sundown. Given that she had to deal with the organization of a tournament as the Blackstone Fortress' ruler, the former Warden had given Joy permission to enter her quarters and wait if she was not back at sunset.

Despite that and the fact the stars were becoming visible in the sky past the end of the corridor, Joy considered waiting outside anyways. But if Apollyon had specifically given her permission, and a spare key at that, the warlord wanted her to see something. So she used the key and went inside.

Joy had expected the quarters to be stark and ill lit, much like the throne room, but instead it had been thoroughly decorated. Much of the wall was covered with trophies from wars previous - helmets, weapons, shields that showed the loser's crest and colors, several torn banners, and even the partial remains of a ballista. Beyond that, there was a bookshelf full of various texts, and a rather well crafted wood table with a pitcher and wooden goblets sitting on a rug made out of a bear's hide. But that table contrasted the old couch next to it, one whose cushions had been torn and constantly resewen by the weight and edges of armor.

Deeper into the quarters was a rather ornate desk covered in scrolls, a high backed wooden chair behind it, and likely the actual bedchamber past that. Joy did not think it appropriate to look in further. Instead she spent a few minutes looking over the weapons (the curved Chosen blades in particular) before her eyes were drawn towards the bookshelf.

While she had initially dismissed it as containing personal records, on a closer inspection Joy saw that the texts were much more. They were in a mix of languages - Latin, Japanese, and a few stones with futhark runes at the base of the bookcase. She focused on the Latin texts, and felt herself surprised as she realized what the contents were about.

Yes, there were the texts on military history as she expected, but many of them were actually texts on architecture. And within those, the distinct pattern in the titles was the source of her surprise. _Sanctuaries of the Legions: Defensive Warfare_. _The Architect's Primer to Traps_. _The Art of Fortification: Decorations of the Sanctuaries_. _On Statues and Meanings, an Artisan's Guide_. _Beyond Idolatry: the Artistic Merit of Foreign Statues_.

"Architecture?" Joy wondered as she frowned, picking up the last text and looking at it. It depicted a Chosen statue, resembling a heavily stylized lion with curves and a more demonic face. She had seen a similar artist's depiction before, yet it was in context of a text trying to explain the so-called 'way of the gods' that the Dawn Empire obeyed.

She considered flipping through the book, but the door opened as the thought crossed her mind and the surprisingly quiet step of a woman in plate armor echoed in the chamber.

Apollyon had returned, and Joy had not closed the door as well as she had thought. "Ah, Warden. Looking through my library?"

"Master," Joy bowed her head as Apollyon entered, and as usual the warlord waved away the homage. "Yes, I will admit to being curious."

"There is nothing wrong with that, books are meant to be read," the warlord answered as she stepped further in, briefly glancing deeper into the room. "So, you want to continue our first conversation. Have you considered an ambition, Warden?"

"Maybe," Joy admitted as she was still not fully sure. "Or at least something related. I am not sure if Lord Cross mentioned it, but…"

"Ah, of how you unwittingly served for honor alone," Apollyon interrupted with a chuckle. "Yes, it came up. Like so many assume, you forget your own needs in duty."

"My _needs_ were met by the legion's supply," she pointed out as she put the text she had examined back onto the shelf. "But if I am to live in Ashfeld in the long term, there has to be more."

"Is that so?" Apollyon tilted her head briefly, then glanced to the table and the couch behind it. "Take a seat, Warden, there is no reason for us to stand around. Have you ever tried mead?"

Joy frowned as she glanced at the pitcher and wooden goblets on the low table. "I never had the chance," she admitted as they stepped around the table.

"Of course."

They sat down, with Joy focusing on pouring the drinks. As the lesser ranked knight and no servants about, convention called for her deal with that. She poured a full goblet for Apollyon, and a quarter one for herself as she was unsure of the amber brew. Meanwhile Apollyon unhooked the longsword at her belt and leaned it against the couch, before taking off her helmet. Despite the fact she had seen it before and the fact that her master took it off during meals with the other warlords, Joy still had to look twice at seeing the elder woman's face.

"Go ahead and try it," the older woman remarked as she took her goblet.

Joy sat down - having left her own sword and helmet in her quarters, she did not need to account for them. She gave the amber drink a look, then brought the goblet up to take a sip and immediately felt her jaw shifting as she swallowed the overly sweet brew.

Apollyon chuckled at her reaction. "I imagine you are used to a far milder brew," a remark punctuated by drinking directly and without any fuss.

"A less sweet drink, but yes," Joy shrugged, taking a second and larger sip. "I think I prefer wine."

"Of course, we all have our own tastes," the former Warden remarked as she took her own goblet and drank it without a problem. "So, how do you want to answer the question Cross posed you?"

Joy frowned as she tilted her head, before dismissing it as Cross either mentioning it or Apollyon asking. "I keep changing my mind. Should I accept the offered honor and reward, or avoid settling down?"

"Perhaps the question you should ask is do you _need_ to be landed."

Joy nodded once as she considered it. "As long as my upkeep is covered and I have a wage, no. I don't."

Apollyon took another drink before continuing. "So, why would you _want_ it? Or, perhaps, why do you _believe_ you want it?"

"I'm sorry?" the young Warden frowned. "'Believe' that I want it?"

"Do you want to be a landowning knight, or is that just what you were told to desire?" Apollyon set her now empty goblet down and leaned back in her chair. "As a Warden, and as a knight of a legion, you hardly need to be landed for your duties. Yet you still think that it is something you should look for."

"There are quite a few things it could do for me. The Blackstone Legion wouldn't need to pay my upkeep if I have my own income, and it would be a place to call home." She paused as she considered other aspects. "Then of course, the prestige from the responsibility of governing."

"And would you be a governor, or would you be like Holden Cross? He is the lord of a castle, yet most of the time he is elsewhere."

Joy frowned. He had mentioned he never considered it to be home, but to be constantly on the move when he had a duty to govern? And Mulciber had mentioned he oversaw many of the Blackstone Legion's holdings for the other warlords.

"It may be considered a reward," Apollyon continued, "and with some time and investment even a once burnt out manor will give you a far greater income than any wage the legion pays. But I do not think you are looking for riches, not if it took half a year for you to even ask."

"No, I'm not looking for riches," she admitted as she found her eyes drawn towards the bookshelf. "But I want to do more with my life than fight and die."

"And that costs money."

Joy glanced away, feeling her shoulders hunching up at the blunt assessment, much to her master's amusement.

"Hah! Why are you so ashamed, young knight? Wealth is but a means to an end."

"I guess…" she hesitated. "It seems petty. I am a _Warden_ , and here I am worrying about money. And not because my equipment is damaged, or that I need to buy supplies, but because I want something nice for myself."

"And why is this an issue?" Apollyon leaned back against the couch. "You have fought and bled, you earned the reward. Why shouldn't you indulge in some comfort when your sword is unneeded?"

Well, why couldn't she? As Joy looked down at her hands, trying to think of a reason otherwise, she could not. A Warden could serve as a mercenary for pay alone, as long as they still aided those in need without expectation of reward. She _had_ served for pay alone, using it to remain alive and equipped as she journeyed to Ashfeld. And beyond that a Warden could serve a legion or even rule in her own name, so long as she kept to her oaths as a Warden. Was Valentia of Westlake not held up as proof that a Warden's honor and a wealthy lifestyle were not incompatible?

"There is no reason," she finally admitted, exhaling as she shook her head. "I worked myself up over nothing. Over an expectation of society."

"And now that you understand this, how do you envision yourself as a knight?"

"A warrior," Joyeuse answered, and almost surprising herself with her lack of hesitation. "Going where I'm needed, rather than being tied down."

"Then you have the answer you wanted, unless you have another reason?" Apollyon tilted her head, leaving the young Warden feeling like she was being challenged to raise another argument against.

She declined, shaking her head. "No, I have an answer. I will serve for the wage, at least for now."

"Oh? And what eventual goal might call for you to be landed?"

Joy hesitated as she realized she had let her tongue slip. She went on, since Apollyon was taking time to hear such personal issues anyways. A straight answer was the least Joy could give for that. "Since I want to call Ashfeld home, I considered that I might end up creating a cadet branch of my house. If I do, then they need a future fit for nobility."

"And do you want to do that, or is that what society expects of you?"

"It was an idea I toyed with," she answered as she glanced away. "I was reaching."

"Of course." Apollyon glanced at the pitcher, and the drink she had finished. The warlord leaned forward again, pouring more of the mead for herself. "If you want more, go ahead. I have plenty, and we may as well continue speaking."

Joy frowned. "You don't have other matters to deal with, master?"

"The day has passed, and what remains is our own time. Go ahead, perhaps another topic."

After a moment's hesitation, Joy leaned forward and poured more of the amber brew for herself, a full goblet this time, and took a sip. "Is there something you would ask of me?"

"Perhaps why you would rather speak to me, rather than Holden or Stone. I remember how we first met. You did not approve of executing the deserters."

"I still don't," she answered as her shocked realizations returned. "There was no reason for those men to die."

"And yet you will listen to what I have to say. You chose to ask me about this, rather than another." The warlord's gaze was digging into her, and somehow the fact it was not through her skull faced helmet made it all the more intense. The young Warden could not deny that there was a reason, one that overrode the lingering suspicions she still had.

"You ask the questions no one else will," Joy finally admitted. "Others would tell me that I chase ghosts, or to not worry about it. You ask me why I feel the need to chase."

They fell silent for a few moments, which the young Warden tried to cover up by drinking more of the mead. It was definitely too sweet for her liking, but it wasn't that bad either. And it was a good cover for her not knowing how Apollyon took the admission.

"So," the warlord finally said as a faint smirk crossed her lips. "You want to learn."

She hesitated for a moment, the lingering suspicions arising again, but… "Yes. I do."

"The pinnacle knighthood, willing to admit to her own lack of knowledge, of confidence?"

_I sound like a sheep,_ Joy realized as she felt her shoulders hunch up again. Apollyon chuckled as she saw it.

"There is no shame in being eager to learn, Joyeuse," the warlord continued as she leaned forward. "And as long as you are, I am willing to teach."

They fell silent again as Apollyon took a drink herself, giving her a chance to consider it. Did Joy even want to learn from Apollyon, knowing the woman looked down on her birthright and the society she was born for? _If you didn't,_ she told herself, _you wouldn't be here now._

"Thank you, master," Joy answered before she finished off what was in her goblet. "I can't promise that I will accept what you have to teach, but I will listen."

"Good," the legion's master chuckled. "Good."

XXXXX

That had more or less ended their conversation that night, as Apollyon had felt that it was best for Joy to take some time to let their discussion sink in. Joy returned the spare key, thanked her master for the time and drink, then made her way back to the quarters she had been assigned.

Night had fully set in by the time she left, and the guards were carrying torches or lanterns for their nightly rounds. The wall mounted braziers and the full moon provided more than enough light for the young Warden as she made her way back. She did not have a particularly long walk, but it still gave her mind time to wander.

Yes she had figured out her immediate issue: she would take a wage rather than Cross' offer of landing her in the liberated territories. But that was a question posed to her starting to think of wanting to settle into Ashfeld, to let it become home. Apollyon was right: if Joy was content to just continue with whatever plan was laid for her, she would have stayed home. So, what did _she_ want to do?

Lofty goals crossed her mind, such as trying to revive the Wardens as a presence in Ashfeld or maybe consider striving towards becoming one of the Blackstone Legion's warlords. Though considering that being a Warden at all had been a lofty goal, maybe that meant she should consider something mundane? Study to learn what she had neglected in her upbringing, like administrative skill. Or maybe find love, on her own terms rather than for politics.

_Or just take up embroidering again,_ she realized with a smile, glancing down at the standards hanging from her waist. She had not been able to do much more with it than decorate the standards she was issued since she left Sandshore. Now that she might have a lasting set of quarters, she could take it up again and consider working on larger projects, on actual art.

Though in the end, that was a way to relax rather than any ambition. And now that her mind was wandering towards that, Joy had to wonder what Apollyon meant by what society wanted her to believe. Was that just her master's cynicism, or something more?

Joy put it aside for now. Maybe at some point she would understand, when the point was not so fresh in her mind. Some lessons simply took time to set in, and this was something that just needed time to figure out.

But for all the questions of what to do in the future, the young Warden was certain about one thing: Ashfeld was going to be her home. It was time she embraced that fact, even if it meant she had to forever say goodbye to the rest of her family. The thought kept her up that night, especially as she would have to tell them through a letter. The letter would take a few days to write, but eventually she settled on a single letter to those she had left behind.

_To my loving family,_

_I write back from the capital of the Blackstone Legion, as the legion sees to the business of who will govern the liberated territories. The Warborn have been routed from Ashfeld, defeated decisively in the field on the road to Tholen as well as other battles along the way. With victory in hand, the Blackstone Legion is settling into the duty of being the bulwark against foreign invasion. A bulwark that I am now part of, serving as Lord Holden Cross' second. And with this, Ashfeld will become home._

_Much as I miss Sandshore, much as I wish I could return to you, much as I wanted to take pride in serving my house as a knight, I have to accept the truth. I hurt my house by leaving the way I did, and that returning to stay will only make it worse. I wish I could say this in person, it should be said in person, but we both know our duties will not give us six months to spare just for a family talk._

_I will always hold you in my heart, my loving family. No matter how far I have gone from home, the virtues we embody - to strike for honor - will always be dear to me. I know that all I can offer is prayers for you to find a bright future as I remain in Ashfeld, but let me write to each of you in turn._

_Robert, I know you always were unsure of yourself becoming Count, but I know you will succeed. There has to be more than war, and as an engineer you can build a better future. You were born for this, and you have friends who will help you. Trust them, trust the experience they have, and show them you can lead. You have the steel to rule well, we all saw it when you organized my departure. I know you will rule well, Count Robert of Sandshore Castle. May your reign be long and happy._

_Brandon, we always imagined ourselves as the sword and shield of our house, but now that falls on you alone. You always looked up to Conquerors as I did to the Wardens, even though you could never join their ranks. Having fought alongside some of the best, Iron and Blackstone Legion alike, you have that strength too. Some of your peers will turn their nose up at the friendships you forge with the men-at-arms, calling it beneath you, but you know who you are. Hold onto that, I think you will find the friendships there to be rough but just as strong as those of anyone you call a peer._

_Mother, I have to thank you. Thank you for the letter you sent, for telling me the truth I had tried to avoid as I left. For all we fought over my future, whatever I may have said, I know you were never malicious. You wanted what was best for me, and still do. I would have been blessed to take Guillaume's hand in marriage as you intended, but my vocation called me elsewhere. Please, tell him that, and that I hope he finds the love he hoped for in another. Noble as it is that he is holding out for me, we both know that he holds out in vain as his duty is calling._

_But for all we disagreed on my part there, for all we shouted over the affair, you are still my mother and I still love you. I share your hope that we will be able to meet again before either of us join father, but if not then let these letters suffice. I hope that the fears you dread never come to pass, but I am a Warden. I know what my fate is to be, even if I retire to Anastasis in old age as Sir Lancel has._

_And to all of you, thank you again. A young woman such as myself can only count herself lucky to have been born to such a loving family. I hope that I do you all proud as I find a new home here in Ashfeld, and that you all have long and fulfilling lives without me._

_May God preserve you all,_

_Dame Joyeuse Maylis, Warden of the Blackstone Legion_

_PS: Robert, I conveyed your sovereign regards to Apollyon, and she instructed me to let you know that they were received. I think she appreciated the honesty in them._

The young Warden was not happy with the letter she had written, as there was so much more to tell and say and by necessity much of it had to be about her own feelings. But it was the best she could do, for now at least. She could only hope it was enough, and even then she had hesitated as she was about to seal the letter. It was more than a goodbye - it was her declaring that she would not return home.

And that was why she had to seal the letter and send it, no matter how long it took for it to arrive. It was closure, least of all for herself and most of all for her family. She had left with her last conversation with her mother an angry shouting match, and a tearful goodbye to her brothers before riding into the night. Much as she wished she could go back, to say it all and more in person, she knew that the chance might never come.

So Joyeuse sealed the letter, and turned to the preparations to see it sent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always liked the idea that Apollyon had become a sort of second mentor to the Warden, much as Kreia is to the Jedi Exile in Knights of the Old Republic II (now there's a crossover idea), and I wanted to get into this. Apollyon really is a fascinating character to write, and scenes like that are exactly why.
> 
> Also, a note on the 'ballad' Stone mentions. Before the Contest of Champions dropped I had started working on some stories to flesh things out better. I wanted to use Valentia in the initial scene, but the Warden one I had made before was a much better lead in to dealing with the letter from Joy's mother and the like.


	14. Knightly Suit

"So, who do you want to win?"

"Dame Sybilla, master, without a doubt."

Apollyon chuckled at Joyeuse's answer, leaning back in the high backed chair. Joy sat to the warmaster's left, with Cross sitting between them with a rather large tankard. He was already on his second refill while most were still on their first drink, but then again he was taking his chance to relax for all it was worth.

The Blackstone Legion had no formal tournament grounds within the walls, instead making use of the training grounds outside the fortress with stands temporarily assembled around it, including the berfrois they were sitting in. Though the division of Ashfeld's territories continued, the tournament on the summit's fourth day was a day of rest. A chance for them to cast politics aside rather than continue exhausting themselves in arguments of minutiae.

They would be back at it tomorrow, but today they would enjoy the spectacle in the morning, and the afternoon would be to themselves to spend as they wished. Joy had her plans, and that had included spending the tournament with Stone as the Conqueror had decided against participating. She was still unsure if she would participate, but she knew she would not join the first of the day's events: the mounted joust. Though proficient, the young Warden always saw herself as more of a foot knight.

Still, that was fine: it gave her the chance to sit back with her peers and superiors alike, to talk face-to-face with them as most removed their helmets for the event. Apollyon was the only one who had not, leaving her helmet on as others stashed them around as formal wear remained the full panoply of war. Joyeuse was getting used to it, though, and it hardly stopped her from filling Stone in on the finer points of tournaments - particularly jousting - that he did not quite understand.

Apollyon had her own remarks as they waited for the final bout to begin. "It is a shame that the tournament has been prettied up. So much has been lost making it a spectator's sport."

"Er, weren't the old tournaments basically outright war?" Stone asked as he glanced towards her. Apollyon had been quite willing to include him in the small talk during the jousts, and he seemed far more comfortable at being casual with a superior - an effect of how he had served Kline while she was Harrowgate's Iron Commander, he claimed.

"They used blunted weapons, but yes," Joy admitted, glancing briefly at their master before continuing as Cross was leaning back as if he was asleep. "Even though the goal was to capture the other teams, too many knights died in them. Most realms outlawed the old tournaments to stop that."

"Yet one cannot deny the genuine experience it provided," Apollyon remarked as she leaned back. "You learn best when you hear your teeth crack and see your blood flow. When you feel the actual danger, even if your enemy only wants to extort you of your wealth."

"And that's why I never bothered," Stone remarked as he rested a hand on the rim of his helmet, which was resting on the armrest to his left. "Just too much of a hassle. Just put an entry fee and give the winner a big share of the pot."

Which was how the Blackstone Legion organized its own tournaments, if it was not for glory alone like this one was.

Regardless, they fell silent as the last joust of this event began, Cross awakening as his knight rode along the lists. To their left, Dame Sybilla. To their right, Sir Albrecht. Belial shouted an encouragement to his son along with the rest of the crowd before the tournament master held his hands up for silence and introduced the two for the final joust.

Though the most iconic aspect of jousting was the use of a lance, the current fad of knightly tournaments instead went in with three different weapons, varying by event. Both contestants would be armed with the same weapon in a given bout, but the goal remained the same: to score three strikes against a shield, the winner was whoever won two bouts. To reward forceful blows, if a strike caused a weapon to shatter the one who made such a devastating strike instantly won the bout. And to ensure neither contestant compromised on their survival to strike harder, being unhorsed was instant defeat across all three bouts.

Sybilla won the first round with lances, shattering her weapon against Albrecht's shield. Though the warlord's son managed to strike hers back, he failed to deliver enough force to shatter his own lance, instead bending his into an angle. It was not enough to count it as a tie, and so Sybilla won the bout immediately.

"Hah! That's the way you do it dame!" Cross bellowed, laughing with the applause.

"Looks like your son's winning streak is coming to a close, Karl!" Merihem called over from where she and Truffe had been sitting to Apollyon's right.

"It's not over yet, and _your_ son already lost!" Belial shot back before downing some more wine.

"It seems he has a reason to fight, far more than glory alone," Apollyon remarked as she turned her head to the left, stopping at Joy briefly before looking further to the other warlord. Belial simply shrugged, though he did manage a faint grin.

"Maybe I'm missing something," Stone started as the applause died down, "but what was so special about Sir Albrecht unhorsing Sir Andrea?"

"Mounted combat is mostly horsemanship, especially lancework," Joy elaborated as the two contestants went back to get new weapons.

"And Merihem's son is a really good rider?"

"As I understand," the Warden shrugged as the contestants grabbed their next weapons and readied for the next round.

This time they made use of another polearm, emulations of poleaxes. They did not use the real ones with blunt edges, but the wooden equivalents still had weight. Sybilla got the first strike in this time, using it similarly to a lance but took a similar strike in return as the two rode past each other and brought their horses around.

Though the force of the impacts had sent both of them pushing back, Sybilla had recovered first and was able to make a tight turn with her horse, while Albrecht allowed his to go wider. He ended up using that to his advantage, getting a bit more reach that allowed him to win the bout three to two.

"Now if they used _real_ poleaxes, it would've been over at the start!" Cross called loudly, causing the warlords and those attending with them to laugh.

"Yeah, if you didn't crush the horse first!" Truffe's retort drew even more laughter, particularly as glancing towards him Joy saw him slap his gut.

And as that started to subside, Apollyon landed her soft-spoken strike. "As always, Beelzebul, you wear self-awareness as armor."

That drew a chuckle from the brigand-turned-warlord before he raised his tankard for a refill - as did Cross, after seeming to have abstained for a bit. Apollyon glanced at Cross and chuckled again. "You seem to be indulging today, Holden. Haven't you had enough?"

"With this herd of cats? Hah, not a chance," he snorted as the servant filled his tankard back up. "Thank you," he added, nodding to the maid as she finished.

The last round of the joust was with cavalry swords, and Joy hoped that the time she spent sparring with Sybilla would pay off. Sybilla had changed her tactics, avoiding going head on and instead tried to keep him in a pursuit, trying to get him to have to stop his horse to match a turn so she could swing around to strike. It worked, twice, but Albrecht caught on. She switched to pursuing him, but he brought his horse to a sudden stop and clotheslined her with a backhand strike.

The blow went right for the shield, Sybilla raising it in time to stop the blow from hitting her face, but the momentum left her unsteady as she was pushed back. Albrecht let the blow push his arm back to a pseudo-ready position, and then he moved forward and struck twice in quick succession even as Sybilla stopped herself from falling off. One strike hit her shield, a second hit the horse as she was urging it onwards to avoid being taken out instantly.

The crowd cheered on the display, and Joy lent her voice to it. "Get him!" she shouted, "He can't do that again!"

And a few seats to her left, she heard Belial urging his son on. "You have her, son! One more strike!"

The two competitors faced off, circling the arena as they recouped and assessed. This had been a close joust, and neither wanted to give. But Albrecht made the first move, going right for Sybilla head on, then at the last minute swerved to the left, cutting her off and forcing her to halt her horse before she slammed into him.

And as he brought the horse around, the dame managed to get moving again and tried to turn to avoid being hit, only for him to swing around and strike the shield. Sybilla hit back, but too late.

" _Sir Albrecht Rottdal is the victor!"_ the tournament master shouted.

"That's my boy!" Belial bellowed, rising to his feet and clapping hard with the applause of the rest.

Joy exhaled, shaking her head as she clapped with the others. It had been a close fight, but Albrecht seemed to be fighting with an intense desire to win and a willingness to unnecessarily hurt his arm over it.

Sybilla had rode back to her end, dismounting angrily. If she had verbal abuse, she spared the castle pages who were assisting her with her gear that day. _She'll probably have plenty later,_ the Warden mused.

After a victory lap to take in the crowd's audulation, Albrecht handed off his weapons to the pages aiding him and rode towards the tourney master. There, he would accept the prize for the tournament, a laurel wreath to symbolize the victory. As he dismounted the announcer went into the usual ritual and drama of praising gallantry proven to the public by triumph before naming him the victor of the joust. Albrecht accepted the wreath as it was placed on his head, then mounted up again.

What followed caught everyone's attention, sending hushed whispers throughout the crowd as he then removed it from his head, and rode at a gentle amble towards the seats where the observing knights sat.

"Who is he going to give it to?" Joy remarked as she recognized what he was doing immediately. The countless times she had seen it back home ran through her mind.

"Huh?" Stone asked as he glanced at her, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"A knight can dedicate their victories in tournaments," she explained, not taking her eyes off of the victor. "Sometimes to honor their liege, sometimes to praise a fellow knight, and sometimes to show affection to their beloved."

"Right," the Conqueror remarked as Albrecht eased his horse to a stop.

Joyeuse suddenly felt her gut tightening as he came to a halt before them. Before _her_. The tourney fields went quiet as all eyes fell onto them. Next to her she could hear both Cross and Apollyon's plate armor grinding against the chairs as they turned to look. Stone shifted, the chains he wore around his wrist bumping against the rim of his helmet.

Albrecht bowed his head, holding the wreath out towards her, then spoke. Joy knew the words and what they meant, and that just made them hit all the harder.

"A humble dedication of victory from an ardent admirer, my lady."

Perhaps it was the sheer attention on her, or perhaps it was the fact the compliment was coming from a rather good looking young knight smiling happily as he made his grand gesture. Or maybe it was something else, but Joy felt her cheeks heating up and her body tensing as his arm remained outstretched. How should she…

_You know what is expected of you,_ a part of her reminded her and Joy fell back to that. It was a grand gesture, and she knew what her role was.

"Thank you, sir knight," she answered as she bowed her head close enough for him to reach. "You flatter me with this gift."

"May it prove my worthiness of your favor," he answered back as traditions dictated, placing it on her head before rising back up to his full height as the crowd roared into thunderous applause.

Joy made sure to smile, though it was a trivial task as she rose back up in her seat. No one had ever done this for her before, even if there had been the occasional flirt while she was on the road. And a young knight like Albrecht, full of vigor and almost certainly already knowing other ladies chose her - the outsider new to the legion - to honor? How could she _not_ smile?

But she could hear Stone growling as he watched Albrecht ride off, waving to the cheering crowd. She could, even with her reddened cheeks, feel the gaze of the others falling on her. Cross was quietly chuckling over the whole affair between drinks, and Apollyon? Her gaze remained silent as always, yet she seemed to be watching what was going on and everyone's reactions as she slowly looked between them.

Still, _that just happened_. Someone actually was willing to go through all that to impress her - it certainly explained how he found the determination to do what he did. Could she really just brush that off such a grand gesture as nothing more than a pass?

"So," Stone finally growled as he glanced at her, "that's how it is?"

"Huh?"

"Dedicating tournament victories," the Conqueror continued as his gaze kept switching between her and Albrecht still taking in the crowd cheering. "That's what it looks like?"

"Oh, right," she blinked. "Yes, dedicating tournament victories is one of the grandest of gestures."

"Seems more like a way to make your beloved uncomfortable by forcing all eyes on her, but what do I know? I'm just a former bandit!"

Joy wanted to elaborate, but she held her tongue. He did not seem to be in the mood, and she did not want to hurt their friendship. Even if their bouts of courtship were just for fun, and they went in knowing that, how inadequate did the grand gesture make him feel?

_He's not really into it,_ she tried to tell herself. _He prefers the simple stuff, peasant love._ Yet somehow, that just did not fit even as she ended up keeping at least a small grin on her face as the tournament temporarily adjourned to wait for the next contests.

XXXXX

"Commander, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Alberic," Stone shot back as he was waiting at the makeshift bar attached to the temporary tourney grounds. Not that he was really telling the truth: he was bothered by what had just happened, but couldn't place why.

The Lawbringer who approached him was, naturally, not so easily dissuaded. And neither was Stone's acting second, who spoke up next.

"I saw you walk off, and you wouldn't be here if you weren't bothered," Edward remarked as he settled to Stone's right as the Lawbringer stayed to the left.

Exhaling, the Conqueror pressed both his hands against the table. "Fine, what do you want me to say? That I want to bash Albrecht's nose in?"

"If that is what actually bothers you," Alberic answered as the barkeeper came back with Stone's drink. "We're good," he added and the bartender left the three to talk.

"Alright, right. I'm bothered that he made a spectacle out of a friend." Stone brought the mug up and drank. "I bet you two could find something in that list of ritual nonsense."

"A good thing, actually," Edward offered as smiled. "They say that real jealousy always increases the feeling of love."

"Uh-huh, sure. Or I'm just a possessive git."

Edward let the smile vanish from his face. "Look, talking man to man here? If you're not sure about your intentions, _ask about hers_. Ask if you think the two of you have a future together."

"Isn't that court speak for 'shall I ask if you will marry me'?"

"Yes, but it is not an actual proposal. After all, that takes much more thought."

The Conqueror took another drink as he considered the Lawbringer's clarification. It was admittedly good advice: they may have started it knowing it was just for fun, but he hadn't completely dismissed the idea it might work out better.

_Cack, she started the tease but I made a remark about if it was more than that,_ he realized as he shook his head. And that piss for tact pass he tried when he showed up. Still, there was another fact that bothered him.

"Alright, fine, I can ask," he admitted as it was good advice. "But even then, she deserves someone younger. I've got what, a decade over her? It's not like we're both greyed veterans."

"Women her age marry men twice yours," the Lawbringer continued as he folded his arms. "You are both adults, so that is no obstacle."

"And we do that for _political gain_ ," Edward added. "If it's genuine love, I say why the hell not! Stone, you answered a Raider threatening to drink from your skull by wearing his as an ornament. You can handle this."

Stone finished his drink. "Yeah, I can," he started, half rising as he glanced over and saw Joy walking towards the lists. And she still had that wreath on her head. At that point he halted - she had her own thing to deal with given her friend just got beaten, and he needed time to think anyways.

"Later, though," he added as he sat back down and shook his head.

"Just don't wait too long," Edward warned as he looked down at him. "That suspicion I had? I think Albrecht just started another tournament."

Stone simply looked down the empty mug. Just the kind of bullshit he did not want to stick his flail into. _But the kind of bullshit I'll oversee as a lord,_ he realized, exhaling again. Nobles, and worse those that pretend to be such and raise their kids that way.

XXXXX

"So, you have another admirer."

"I'm surprised that is what is on your mind, considering he just beat you," Joy pointed out as she found Sybilla at the edge of the lists tying down a piece of armor that she had previously removed to check for damage.

"Yes well, it was a close fight and I still shattered him in the first bout," the other dame shrugged as she pushed herself up from the crate she was sitting on. "So, a warlord's son did that."

"Yeah, he did," the Warden shrugged as she brushed her fingers against the leaves. "But if he thinks I'm beautiful, why should I complain?"

"True, and he isn't the only one."

"Stone and I are just having fun, I don't think he has serious intent."

"Still he's rather cute, for a former brigand," Sybilla remarked as she knelt down to grab her shield, then as she picked it up she giggled. "And so is Sir Albrecht, but surely a _Warden_ has no time for gossip."

Joy chuckled as she rested her hands on her hips. "I'm still human, Sybilla. Besides, we're both entering our best years."

"That we are."

However, any further conversation was halted as they saw who was waiting a few meters away. The young victor and admirer, his short black hair on ends from the helmet he was wearing minutes before, smiling as they saw him.

Sybilla glanced at Joy, then to Albrecht, then back to the Warden. "I'll see you later, unless you've changed your mind?"

"Nah, I'll be there."

The dame nodded, "Well fought, by the way," she added to Albrecht as she started walking away.

"Likewise," he agreed before turning towards Joy and approaching her. The young Warden felt herself shifting as he kept the smile up on his clean shaven face and bowed his head. "We have not really spoken, good Warden, and I would very much desire the honor of knowing you better."

Part of her was on guard as he was laying on the ritual of courtly romance, but she still allowed herself to smile. "I already made plans for the day, sir knight."

"Of course, and soon we will be off to our garrisons. Still even if we cannot find time before that, there is no reason we cannot exchange letters."

"Certainly, but I will be on the move as Lord Cross' second."

"Then I shall hope that we might have the fortune of being in the field together." He glanced towards the stands, then back to her. "Do you intend to compete?"

"I was," she folded her arms. "Why, were you going to?"

"Though you are certainly worth such a struggle, I think I will partake in the honor of seeing your mastery with my own eyes."

Joy felt her smile widening. "You will no be disappointed, sir knight."

"Might I accompany you to the lists then, so we might at least steal a few moments before your victories?"

_He's serious, isn't he?_ She felt it creeping onto her, but her smile remained even if it faded a bit. "I left my helmet at my seat."

"Well, we can speak as we go." He took a half step back and gestured on, and the two made their way towards the stands. "Could I ask what brought a brave knight such as you to Ashfeld?"

"Are you asking for my life's story, sir knight?"

He chuckled. "No, but I would certainly listen."

"Maybe another time," preferably when she had talked to him some more first. Still, she had another question. "But I would ask why you dedicated your victory to me."

"Why shouldn't I have? You are both brave and beautiful. I am more shocked that other knights had not approached you before, as they should be."

"Flattering, sir knight," Joy warned as she narrowed her eyes at him as they stepped up the berfrois, "but I am not quite ready to settle down."

Albrecht paused for a few moments, then shrugged. "Of course, and any man worthy of you would be willing to wait. Do not wait too long, though."

"And why is that?" she could feel her frown as she stopped just before the top of the stairs, rounding to face him.

"I, well," he cleared his throat after raising his hand to cover his surprise. "A woman such as yourself deserves a life that is happy in as many ways as it can be."

She let her suspicions down. "Of course," and now she had to cover that. She shook her head, grabbing the wreath he had given her and pulling it off of her head. "Forgive me, but the shock of this gift has left me cautious."

"There is nothing to forgive, my lady."

Whether that was true or not, the Warden was unsure and she did not want to deal with it now as she simply turned and made her way onwards. Luckily, Stone had not yet come back and Cross was probably still finding somewhere to take his codpiece (and the faulds, and probably a couple other parts of his armor) off for a latrine visit. Apollyon was still sitting there though, and tilted her head as the two approached.

"I see you two are becoming acquainted," the warlord remarked and Joy somehow felt like there was a grin behind the skull faced helmet.

"We are, master," Albrecht bowed his head, and as Apollyon waved him on he went over to his father.

"And you are joining the next competition?"

"I am, master," Joy answered as the question was turned towards her. "I just came for my helmet."

"Then live up to your reputation, Dame Maylis. You are a Warden, the Sword of Harrowgate." Apollyon gestured towards the crowd in the stands opposite with her left hand. "Do not disappoint the flock."

"I won't," she grinned. It was time to show Apollyon why the warlord was right to spend that time talking to her.

XXXXXX

"So, uh, did you mean anything by it?"

"What do you mean?" Joy asked as she glanced at Stone as they were eating lunch. Rather than heading all the way up to the top of the castle, the warlords ate near the tourney field or had gone off to eat elsewhere. Cross and Stone had both invited of their knights to one open air tent, as well as a couple others tagging along from either the garrison or other retinues.

"Well, you gave this to me," Stone pointed at the victory wreath Joy had won and gave to the garrison commander, which was laying on the table between them. "I know you said it was for Harrowgate and its defenders, to honor how we held out, but was that what you _meant,_ or a cover?"

"I meant it," the Warden answered as she noticed a few of the others like Sybilla or Alberic were starting to look towards them. "I might be called the Sword of Harrowgate, but you and your men were the shield that held the sanctuary. That should be honored."

Stone nodded briefly, leaning against the table as he glanced back down at his food and then took a deep breath. "So, you only see the suit as a game then? Two friends having fun?"

Joy hesitated as she realized where this was going. "Are you asking if we might have a future together, good knight?"

"Let's cut the purple prosed drama," he warned, hesitating before he continued. "But, yeah. Do you think this could go somewhere, or is it just what we've been saying it is?"

And now it was the Warden's turn to hesitate. On one hand, she enjoyed it, but on the other hand could she really see herself taking his hand? _Can you see yourself being married at all?_ Another part of her asked, sounding too much like Apollyon for the young knight's taste. Sure she liked Stone, but that much?

"I'm not sure," she admitted as she realized her silence was telling. "I like you Stone. As a friend, but more than that? I just don't know."

"Huh, well…" Stone managed a weak smile, "Guess we're both in the same boat, then. I'm not sure either."

"And now there is a suit for my hand," she exhaled as she placed a hand on the wreath she had left hanging around her neck when she recovered it after her victory. "One that just started, but a suit all the same."

"And more to come," at that he glanced towards his knights across the table - who glanced back with the junior Lawbringer meeting it before turning back to Cross, who was busy relaying a story with over exaggerated motions from his earlier consumption of ale. "At least if those two are right."

Joy glanced over towards Alberic and Edward; Ashley had declined to eat with them as she was drilling the new recruits they managed to get for Harrowgate, but those two had been some of Stone's trusted companions and vice versa. And, from what Joy had gathered in their previous discussions, had been giving the Conqueror an education in courtly romance.

"Even then," she answered as she wondered if something else was at play, "You don't have to get out of Sir Albrecht's way."

"I know, but if you aren't interested, I'd rather not waste your time."

"Time with friends is never wasted," she smiled and the Conqueror chuckled.

"No, it isn't, but maybe we ought to just take a step back?" He glanced around for a moment before continuing. "I mean, take some time to think. We've enjoyed it so far, but if we want to be serious about this, shouldn't we give it time?"

"We should, and we are going our separate ways soon. I will finally see Redflow, and you will go back to Harrowgate."

"Which will keep us busy for a while. We can send letters, but we probably won't be able to visit. Not more than once, anyways."

"Especially since winter is coming," she added as she considered the complications that would add. While some travel could be done as long as there was no snow storms, but the proper preparations were still more of a hassle than it needed to be.

"Yeah, Mount Ignis keeps it warmer, but not that much. The one benefit of a volcanic hellscape."

Both of them ended up laughing at that, a much needed one as the topic still weighed on her mind. This was a topic she really needed time to think of, to let time settle in and let her realize what she wanted. Stone was a good man and genuinely so, but did she see him as just a friend or was there something more like both of them wondered?

_Does it really matter for now?_ She asked herself, and the answer was yes because that might be a decision that governed her whole life just as leaving Sandshore had.

"Anyways, let's just let it sit, for now," Stone added as he shrugged yet again. "Who knows, maybe you will actually like that kid."

She just shrugged. It was far too soon to tell, and this was something that took time - time that they did not really have at the moment.

XXXXXX

The rest of the day did not quite go as Joy had planned. As she expected part of the afternoon was spent with Sybilla and a few other dames that garrisoned in the fortress, taking some time in the fortress' main bath house to wash up from the earlier tournaments and to just relax in hot water. And gossip, a type that the Warden had not really been in since she left Sandshore, though luckily she was not the only topic as others had their own bouts of romance.

The rest of the afternoon, however, she had originally intended to spend with Stone with the two continuing their gentle mockery. But after their discussion earlier they reconsidered. A reconsideration that was cemented when after lunch, Apollyon asked if Joy would speak to her at length. Though the topic was not specified, Joy decided not to delay it since Stone was willing to hold off, and agreed to meet her master later in the afternoon.

They met on an open air balcony on the castle's keep, or what passed for one in this mostrosity of a fortress. It was just above the court's common space, just up a flight of stairs. Apollyon had arranged for a small table and two chairs to be set up for their discussion, particularly as Apollyon had brought a few maps and chess pieces, or close enough to such. After the initial pleasantries and the pouring of drinks, Apollyon had posed Joy with questions of strategy, presenting tactical challenges to the Warden. The pieces, some straight from a chess set while others were from the war room, represented the various forces.

"Interesting," Apollyon remarked as Joy laid out her response to the latest one - how to split her forces to deal with several separate parties of samurai attackers targeting villages and manors under her guard. A Peacekeeper had learned that the goal was to draw her forces out to be weakened before the main army arrived to lay siege, but the peasants needed time to get to the safety of the fortress.

"Did I miss something, master?"

"Perhaps, but I am not disappointed," the warlord continued as she leaned back in her chair, resting her fingers against each other. "I had expected you to try and divide your forces more."

Joy glanced at the pieces. She had not divided them as much as she had in a similar challenge against a Warborn attack, but she felt the strategy was similar enough. "I accounted for the quality of the Dawn Empire's warriors."

"Ah, the myth that the Chosen are worth ten of every enemy."

A nod accompanied the Warden's answer. "It may be a myth, but that kind of claim would not live without some truth to it."

"That is your upbringing as a Royal speaking, not knowing the true quality of the samurai." The rebuke was not harsh, no more so than any other teacher correcting a student. "The samurai are skilled, and only a fool denies it. But how would ten knights kill a hundred, if they were all of similar skill?"

"Defending a castle, keeping them at bay long enough to pour boiling oil onto them from height." She paused a moment as she felt a faint shiver up her spine - she hated the idea of dying to that kind of trap. "Or an ambush, but that would be over a campaign. A dozen or so skirmishes, rather than one clash of arms."

"Exactly, and the Myre is perfect for such. The samurai are skilled warriors, to us appearing as both rangers and knights at once. The lessons they learned in the Myre shaped them into a different kind of warrior. Skilled warriors, but whether they are better or not is in the eye of the beholder."

"And the environment they fight in, just like the Warborn are skilled sailors?"

"We are all reflections of our homes, and how we wage war is no different," Apollyon nodded with her understanding. "But do not be fooled, the samurai can stand in the open and win decisively. They are merely more adverse to the costs of such battles."

Joy nodded as she looked down at the map and the pieces. "So I should split my forces further, to cover more ground and catch the samurai that are sneaking around, and trust the quality of my knights."

"Perhaps, but there is merit to keeping your forces concentrated as well." Apollyon leaned back again. "There is no single right answer to any battle, you can only choose what you will risk. Are you willing to risk your warriors being completely whittled away in skirmishes to save all your subjects, or are you willing to accept the loss of a few of your subjects to keep enough warriors to save the rest?"

There was no easy or quick answer to that - even if a Warden was expected to try and save everyone, how callous would she be to simply write off the lives of her troops like that? Joy wanted to be a leader that at least considered her troops as people, even if some would inevitably die by her decisions. "And you wanted to see what I would do?"

"Of course. One day I may call on you to serve as a commander."

She nodded at the answer, reaching for the wine in a goblet next to her. That made sense, and put it into context. Joy had assumed that there was a hidden lesson being instructed, but instead Apollyon was testing her. Going into the samurai and their quality was a way to see what she knew and to teach her when her distant ignorance was revealed.

"Now, onto a different kind of war," Apollyon continued as she grabbed her own drink and took a small sip. "How does it feel to be Ashfeld's most desirable bachelorette?"

Joyeuse stopped herself from choking as the question smacked into her like the heavy end of a poleaxe. _Her too?!_ "I, uh…" Joy suddenly felt herself coughing. "Ah, master, it was just one suit."

"Oh, you think he is only one? I would have thought that you of all knights would be aware of the politics that gets put around marriage."

"I do, but to be the most wanted maiden in Ashfeld?" Joy shook her head. "I am flattered at the idea of being _that_ beautiful, but surely there are more eligible ladies for them."

"What makes a fit partner is entirely in the beholder's eye," Apollyon remarked as she leaned an arm forward. "Let us not mince words here, Joyeuse. You are a catch in this disgusting game of politics. The perfect age for childbearing, prestigious from your recent fame, and you can even bring your house's legitimacy."

Shifting in her seat, the young Warden looked away. "Do you have to make it sound so… so…"

"Cynical?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps it is," Apollyon shrugged, "but civilization has bound politics and marriage together, cloaking it in love so we remain ignorant to being pieces on a board. Courtly romance is but a farce to hide it behind."

Joy's own doubts of it arose in her mind, leading her to pick up one of the knight pieces on the table. As she rotated it by the base, twisting it between her fingers, she had to wonder. Was it a farce with how many times she and Stone simply burst into laughter from its conventions? And if it was, was it a cloak for something terrible?

"You have wondered about this, haven't you? Wondered why what passed for love in your life was so complicated?"

"Not quite," the Warden answered as Apollyon posed the question. "But I have felt some envy, watching a sergeant and the woman he loved marry just before winter. I wondered what questions they had to ask about their marriage."

"Far fewer than you would ask."

"Yes. They could just marry as their hearts desired." She exhaled as she put the piece down, wondering how those two were doing. "I can't do that. Even here, my marriage is going to speak to politics. Whatever knight I marry, I will be bound to his house as he is to me."

"The ties that saw those once unconquerable bend the knees to petty lords and ladies, the very threat our first warlord feared."

Joy felt a faint smirk cross her lips from a shared name before she forced it away. "Sir Stormwind wanted to put it aside, to have the Blackstone Legion be warriors alone."

"He did, and so we criticized him for it." Apollyon snorted. "When Robert kept his chastity to himself, it was virtuously refusing distraction. But when he wanted it to be an oath of our legion, we chafed and muttered."

"You can respect someone for traits you don't have, master. Besides, how many knights fight so their children might have a future, even if they have not had any yet?"

"Many," the warlord agreed as she took another sip of her drink. "And yet now it leads us back to the politics we should be shunning. Even as we say only warriors rule, we still put on the same trappings of before."

"The Blackstone Legion may have far more Conquerors in its ranks than other legions," Joy pointed out as she considered her fellows, "but many of your knights are still of noble blood, and all that entails."

"Yes, yes, of duties to the realm. Of duty to family, to ensure their house retains their local power or better yet grows. Of being but the latest scions of a long lineage of glory." Apollyon waved her hand. "When it produces warriors time and again, it works. Yet how many petty brats come out of it?"

The Warden shrugged as she chose to ignore Apollyon's low opinion of nobility. Politics was enough to turn anyone bitter, given enough time. But what other options did they have besides anarchy and mob rule? "We were all brats, once."

"But most grow out of it? Hrmpf. Still, it does not change that those politics would see them pursue one maiden above others they desire."

"At least some of them will do it out of love," she protested. Apollyon had a way of seeing past the little white lies of society, but surely it was not that bad? "I refuse to believe the only reason anyone might be interested in me is for their family's prestige."

"If that was the case, they would have began their suits long ago. No, you are little more than game to these hunters."

"I am no one's prey," she felt her hand clenching into a fist, resting it on the table as the metaphor made her bristle.

"Are you? They see a competition to prove themselves the most chivalrous, the most devoted, the most worthy of your hand." The warlord leaned back against her chair. "And if you refuse, they will leverage what they can to convince you that you should marry them to become a knight of Ashfeld."

"Become a knight of Ashfeld…" she muttered as it suddenly hit her. A slow building realization finally opening like a drawbridge whose chains had not been oiled and finally broke.

"Warden?"

"I just realized something," Joy explained as she met Apollyon's gaze. "They have no leverage over me."

"Don't they?" Apollyon raised an eyebrow. "You said you were the outsider, and you want to live in Ashfeld."

"Yes, but that is not the leverage you think it is. I have no ties to the local politics, my family is far from here and has no interests in Ashfeld. All the reasons to keep to expectations with a suit, to ensure my family's position remains strong? Irrelevant." Joy smiled freely as it hit her. "I can accept or reject their suits as I desire, whether it is for politics or not."

"That may be true, but you plot a dangerous course. You risk your hand becoming dangerous to those who _are_ bound by local politics, if you wish to start your own suit."

"There is no single right answer to any battle, you can only choose what you will risk. And love is just another battlefield."

Apollyon laughed. "My own words, Warden? Good, good," she leaned back in her chair, nodding to herself before continuing. "I can instruct Mercy to share what she learned of your supposedly ardent admirers."

"You have Mercy spying on your knights?"

"She does as she wishes between the orders I give her. She happened to mention the budding suits to me."

And knowing who was going to give her a suit and why would be one more card for her held deck. Still, something felt off as Joy considered it, and she shook her head. "I may ask her, but I don't want to taint first impressions."

"The choice is yours, young dame."

"Thank you, master." The Warden bowed her head, then decided they had stayed on that affair for long enough. "If I must face the samurai in the future, though, what should I know?

"Ah, you want to change the topic? Very well. There is much to learn from the Chosen and their ways, but first you must understand how they view the battlefield..."

XXXXX

"So, I never asked but…"

"But?" Stone asked as he quirked an eyebrow as Lord Vulcan asked.

"What do you think of Apollyon's choice of entertainment? You know, the Warborn and Chosen songs and stories."

"Eh, it's an interesting glance," the Conqueror remarked as he considered the entertainment they had during the night before shrugging - Apollyon made sure to cast a wide net of different cultures. "I mean, it's nice to hear it in Latin for once, but honestly I don't care too much for it. It does put a few things into perspective, though I doubt the Warborn fight each other as much as that saga of two brothers says."

"Oh, the brothers Brathair are an all too common occurrence in Valkenheim," Vulcan insisted as he took another drink of his wine. "Alas, Gudmundr has chained that."

"Hmph," Cross growled as he tore off another piece of bread. "Yes, Gudmundr is probably the one thing keeping the Warborn vaguely civilized."

Stone shrugged again. Given the Conqueror's change of plans, Cross had invited him to share a few drinks and just talk in a way they had not during the campaign. Vulcan was who Cross was originally going hang out with, but the slothful architect was perfectly fine with a third wheel. They had met in one of the unused suites in the upper level, by the window for light, and had brought their own food. Cross was abstaining from drinking, sticking to simpler food given his earlier consumption. They had some dice, but hadn't actually started playing anything.

"Him and the whole damn Whitewolf Clan," Vulcan shook his head to continue. "They don't stick their noses into Ashfeld, but they keep Valkenheim from being too bloody. Guess where they send all the extra boys and girls with no chance for land?"

"Ashfeld," Stone exhaled as he understood. "I heard that theory before, but I never believed it. I always thought they were just so hungry for conquest that they would rather go to Valhalla early than live a full life."

"Not that it matters," the Lawbringer cut in after he swallowed. "One day, we will get the opportunity to strike Sverngard. That should keep the Warborn busy for years."

"The Blackstone Legion wants to invade Valkenheim?" Stone tilted his head. "Well, I wouldn't say no to returning the favor."

"Very few would," Vulcan agreed as he sipped his wine. "Though the real challenge is the logistics of it, since it will be easy for the Warborn to cut off a force there."

"The only way we're getting in is Gransgard," Cross agreed as the rested a hand on his head. "Otherwise, quick strikes like that raid on Ribe are all we can do."

"I heard about that," Stone remarked as the name sounded familiar. "Yeah, you guys hit it a few years ago? Straight up set the place on fire?"

"It was Apollyon's idea," Vulcan explained as Cross seemed to grimace. "She wanted to show the Warborn they were not as strong as they thought they were. It was the home of some minor clan allied with Gudmundr, so we hoped it might provoke some infighting."

"Didn't work, did it?"

"Not particularly," the Lawbringer exhaled. "We set the docks and anything nearby ablaze, but we weren't able to do as much damage as we wanted. Gudmundr showed up too quickly with reinforcements. Valkenheim's coastal sentries."

Stone nodded - he had heard the rumors about Valkenheim's defenses. The valleys gave plenty of places for lookouts, and also left a relatively small number of avenues for any army by land or sea. A network of horns, drums, and bonfires would do the rest.

"Still, it worked out in the end. We learned valuable lessons, and eventually the Whitewolf Clan's traders started visiting Lecce again. Aurelia appreciated that, given where the raid ended up hitting her."

"Merihem hates losing money without a good reason," Vulcan shrugged as he grabbed one of the dice. "It's why she never plays for silver."

"Not a bad habit, I've wasted a few pays on good games. And won a few too." The Conqueror shrugged. "So, different topic. When do I get a demon name?"

"Hah! I was wondering when he would ask. Good thing you aren't a betting man, Holden!"

The Lawbringer snorted. "I didn't take you for a man that bought into that childish nonsense, Stone."

He shrugged. "Eh, no, but it'd be nice to have an epithet besides 'convict' or 'lowborn scum'. Especially since I was never actually convicted for anything."

"The Iron Legion just conscripted you directly?" the Lawbringer asked as he tilted his head, leaving Stone feeling uncomfortable before the man he fought alongside shook it. "Forget I asked."

"You don't care what I did?"

"Oh, bad question…"

Ignoring Vulcan's remark, Cross slowly rose to his full height. "I have fought alongside you, and alongside worse. You may have paid for your crimes in military service, but you still committed them."

Stone felt small as he stayed in his chair, feeling himself hunching up. It was not curling into a ball, but it probably did not match his thuggish body. "I ain't proud of it," he added.

"Good," the Lawbringer lowered himself. "Just know that if you relapse, I won't be the only one after you."

And now it was just awkward as he considered just who else he meant. _Who else but the woman you've been spending time with?_ A part of him called out, one that he never liked hearing. He put it aside, for the moment, then looked at the dice.

"Well, now that that's clear… maybe we can talk over some dice? No betting, though. I need to keep my wages for Harrowgate now."

"Hah, I hope you saved a lot then," Vulcan remarked as he started filling the cup with the dice. "Even rebuilding a village is a king's ransom."

"By Royal reckoning?"

"Who else has to make up another word for a bigger lord?"

That caused all three of them to chuckle as Vulcan went first, and to his frustration busted on the first roll. "Damn it…" he cursed before handing it over to Stone. The Conqueror was never particularly skilled at it, but he played enough to get a decent sense of when to risk and when not to.

But as the dice rolled, he had to admit that the Lawbringer had left him uncomfortable. Part of him had tried to deny it, but now that a serious suit came up he had to wonder. If he and Joy really did have feelings for each other, was he even worthy? Even discounting nobility given that he was ranked high enough to pass as such, she was a Warden.

That distracted him as he realized he had misinterpreted a five for a four before he rolled again, but the question lingered. He had not done anything particularly terrible as a brigand - his gang kept to petty crime because anything more was asking to be hunted down. Thieves would be hanged with the rapists, but most manhunters or young knights seeking to prove themselves - _like Joy_ , he mused - would focus on the latter.

_She can decide herself,_ he told himself as he settled on the points he got the second toss and decided not to tempt fate again, passing and letting the Lawbringer roll. Joy already knew he had ran with some brigands in his youth, she may have even assumed he did worse than he did. She still chose to go forward with their 'suit' despite that.

"Holy shit, that's…" Vulcan suddenly shouted as Cross' roll yielded four ones and two fives.

"Eleven hundred points, right there," Stone remarked as his jaw dropped, distracting him from his thoughts. And he got to roll again as well!

"Hrmpf. Luck of the drunk," the Lawbringer muttered as he rolled again, getting three dice that landed on a two. He decided to pass there since he had thirteen hundred points in one go. "This is why I never gamble."

"Lucky us," Vulcan gulped as he was firmly in last place, even if it was now his turn.

Fortune favored him a bit better this time, and Stone let himself forget his trouble with another drink. He was overthinking it, and besides he had bigger things to worry about, like how he was going to march the new recruits down to Harrowgate without losing too much time.

XXXXX

Like all things, the summit came to an end. They sorted out the last of the territories, and also discussed the existing diplomatic state with other minor legions in Ashfeld. They had all recognized Blackstone supremacy in Ashfeld, but some had already made plays like the Greycloaks taking custody of a few westernmost territories at request of the inhabitants. Through the Blackstones did not plan to take them by force, Joy could sense most of the warlords qualified that with a 'yet'. Whether that was usual ambition or something more though, she was not sure - nor was Cross, who admitted the legion had not been in this position before.

Besides those politics, just as Apollyon had predicted a few more suitors had made themselves known. Joy made sure to thank them for the compliments, as was expected. Just because she was not beholden to the politics did not mean that she could not appreciate the attention, ritualized as it was. Whether it was earnest or for politics, though, she could not be certain as she did not take up the offer to speak to Mercy. Oddly, the Warden noticed the Peacekeeper more and more after she spoke with Apollyon. Had she always been there and she only now noticed, or was she showing herself to entice the discussion?

It did not matter either way. Early one morning, Joyeuse had packed her belongings up once more and was strapping them to the saddlebags of her horse. The summit was over, and with it Cross knew it was past time he went back to Redflow. He had been away for most of the year, and while he had his steward to keep the castle running it was still his responsibility to see to the lands under his protection.

"So, think you can slink away before another suitor throws himself at you?"

Joy paused for a moment before shaking her head. "Why, are you jealous Sybilla?"

"Hah!" she chuckled. "So what if I am?"

Smiling, she checked one more saddlebag before she heard footfalls and some of the others fell silent, Rufus telling his two friends to stay silent. Joy turned, and smiled as she noticed Stone had come down. He had not put his armor on, settling for just the green tunic he wore beneath and the trousers and boots that went with it, but he also had come empty handed.

"Stone, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I figured I'd say goodbye," he answered with a faint smile. "I know we spoke last night, but I always wake up early."

"Thank you," she said as she held a hand out as they shook. "And don't be too hard on those recruits when they wake up, Harrowgate needs the men."

"Oh, I can train some legionnaires on the march. You just come back from clearing brigands."

Cross glanced over at that, faintly smiling as he did. "You know, Commander," the Lawbringer remarked, "if you want to season some recruits I'd be willing to take them. If the brigands are up to their usual sins, there would be no shortage of skirmishes."

"Much appreciated, mi'lord, but I think I need to get my own house in order first."

"If you need help with that, just write," Joy offered, briefly glancing at Cross as he nodded to Stone's answer before continuing. "I can't promise anything, but if I can spare the time I'll come."

"Thank you. Stay safe out there, Joy."

"And you, Stone."

"Right then," the Lawbringer said as he mounted up, "Unless any of you need to grab more wine for the trip, we can move out."

"I already packed mine," Joy answered as climbed into the saddle.

"As long as this new saddlebag holds, I'm ready," Geofrey confirmed.

"Same with us," Rufus added as he adjusted the bag strapped around his torso; his bow was inside to protect it from the rain.

"Lead the way, my lord." Sybilla said as she likewise settled on her charger. Frederick just nodded as he and his squire were ready.

"Then let's ride."

They were two short - Davis and his second had already left a few days ago to gather some more men before settling into their new garrison, but that was fine. As they rode out of the gate, Joy glanced back and noticed that two figures on the outer wall were watching them leave. One Apollyon, the other a leanly dress figured next to her: Mercy.

_It's now or never,_ a part of Joy said as she considered the offer, but what could she really do? She had plenty of opportunities to ask, and had chosen to stay in ignorance, at least for now. Which now left her with another question: why? Did she want to see whether the intent of her suitors was pure or not in her own way, or was she just not ready to spurn convention by turning down suits a shadow told her was for political purposes? Did it even matter, since she was still unsure if she even wanted to?

_I'll find my own way,_ she reassured herself. She had quite a few other more immediate matters, especially once they reached Redflow Castle. She would need to situate and become acquainted with where she would be garrisoned, then be ready for whatever trouble had festered while Cross was doing his duties to the legion.

XXXXX

"So, she never asked you?"

"No, master."

"Huh. Interesting," Apollyon remarked as she glanced towards Mercy, then out to those riding away from the castle.

"Just as you take an interest in the Warden's progress."

Apollyon chuckled. "You act like I am trying to hide it, Mercy."

The Peacekeeper showed no sign of reacting as the two stood on the battlements. Any habits of shrugging in concession had been conditioned out of her by a life of espionage. Still, she had to concede that fact: compared to some motives she held, Apollyon was bluntly open in this case.

"No matter, I imagine you will be keeping tabs on her as well, along with everyone else."

The additional comment washed over her just as easily. "I do what I am trained for, master."

"And you have found yourself fascinated by the Warden, haven't you?" Apollyon tilted her head towards her.

Without her helmet, Mercy would have had to school her frown away. Even with it on, she still did out of habit as she answered. "The same as any other rising champion."

"You should pay close attention to her. She has potential." The warlord paused for a moment. "Great potential."

And that answered the question Mercy had over the previous week, of why Apollyon had been taking such time to speak to the Warden or asking the Peacekeeper to keep tabs on her and others' interest in her. Mercy had dismissed it easily, reckoning that Apollyon simply saw Joyeuse as another potential wolf. But now the spy had to wonder if a different interest had taken hold. Mercy filed that away for later.

"Potential trouble," the Peacekeeper remarked instead. It was a fairly obvious line cast out, but Apollyon was sometimes willing to take a fish's role.

"Then I am eager to see what she decides is worth that trouble."

So this was one of those times, though that did not keep Mercy from feeling a brief sense of unease. Ashfeld _needed_ stability, and while Apollyon was currently the best chance for such the warlord's desires could be contrary. She could clearly remember the last message passed to her by another agent of her order, that they suspected Apollyon saw the Blackstone Legion as a means to an end rather than a legion to stand the test of time. Mercy had insisted otherwise, and yet at moments like this…

_Doubt is death, doubt is death,_ she told herself. If she doubted Apollyon at this juncture, especially with the warlord's understanding of her presence, what would happen? What would happen to Ashfeld, to the mission she was sent for? No, she had to keep biding her time. Her order kept their eyes on the Blackstone Legion with other agents, but she was the only Peacekeeper openly serving in the ranks. Well, minus the disgrace that sat as the legion's collective mistress of spycraft, but Lilith had reached an understanding with her former order. Mercy's presence was part of that.

Still, she reckoned she was due to travel soon anyways. Apollyon would grow tired of staying in her castle and would leave to deal with whatever odd matters arose or hunt for new wolves amongst the brigands. If her presence was not desired, Mercy would have room to investigate on her own. She did have questions she wanted answered, after all.

Now if only it was as simple as asking. Then again, if it was that easy they would not need women like her to find secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't do knights in shining armor without chivalric romance, though it has dark and cynical undercurrents that I wanted to explore as well. So yes, I know this looks like a love triangle. For the record I generally dislike them, but in this case I felt that it was a useful tool to explore some aspects of being a knight. After all, there are some dark sides to the supposed purity of courtly romance…
> 
> As for why this seems like it's shifting to romance when there is no pairing tags - the reason I chose not to tag on publishing is because I was not even sure if it would be a genuine romance or if it would just be teasing but deciding it was better to remain friends, if I even went this route. Bioware's romances may be cute, but they also tend to happen too fast for my tastes. I am a fan of the slow burn, and since romance is not vital to the story I felt it was better to take advantage of the room the medium of fanfiction gives me to write it out and see what comes out. Besides does it really matter if it is romance or if they're just battle-brothers if the same scenes of friendship can be done.


	15. Red Flow

Awaking with a stifled yawn, Joyeuse felt a brief twinge as her surroundings were unfamiliar - not that it was a shock. Her arrival at Redflow Castle, Holden Cross’ stronghold, had been late at night thanks to rain and some trouble on the road. Weary from that, she had only spared enough time to wash off the worst of the grime and take off her armor, wearing only the hose and tunic she wore beneath the gambeson before falling into the bed. She had barely looked around the quarters, once Ademar’s, that were now hers.  
  
Now that she was awake and rested well enough, she had the opportunity to actually look at the room. The walls had been painted, with a red background for an assortment of different murals. Joy recognized a few of them from similar artworks, like a depiction of Magnus the Conqueror as he defended his wounded (and technically petty) king against the Warborn in the Iron Legion’s founding battles. Others she wrote off as generic decoration by the artist like a knight singing to his lady (complete with a lute, even) to fill the space. There were no tapestries hanging in the room, save for a single Blackstone banner by the window.  
  
Besides a freestanding candlestick by the door and another on the desk, both unlit, that window was also the room’s main source of light. Joy moved towards it, reaching for the metal latch on the frame of the glass window. Opening it, she immediately felt a rush of cold and damp air into the room that cut straight through the worn linen she wore. Briefly shivering, she leaned against the edge to take a look around without the opaque glass in the way. She was on the east side of the castle’s keep, which allowed her to look down right into the moat and see the countryside.   
  
The morning was dreary, primarily as the rainclouds still carpeted the sky. Fortunately, the rain itself had faded away into a faint drizzle, more mist in the air than droplets. But she could make out the start of daily toils - she could see serfs in the fields opposite of the castle working on gathering the harvest, to see it done swiftly so they could look to preparing for winter. Across a hill with a bending road, where a forest started, she saw smoke rising from the master huntsman’s lodge. And even further, she could barely make out the other manors on that side of the castle connected to it.  
  
Taking a deep breath for the fresh air, Joy turned away and towards what she had left unfinished the night before. Namely, her belongings. Most of them remained in the travel pack which she had left on the floor by the dresser, but her wargear?  
  
“Pinnacle of knighthood, can’t even put her armor away properly,” she remarked, a faint grin crossing her lips as she set about rectifying that.   
  
She had left her maille slumped over the back of the chair, the gambeson tossed onto the seat itself, and the plate components had been left on or at the base of the desk itself. Sorting that out was her first task, as was checking for any damage she missed after their encounter on the road. Just a few brigands they easily dealt with, but one had managed to hit her shoulder guard with a scythe before she turned and gutted him.  
  
There was none, and she found herself glancing towards the armor stand next to the dresser, the other main furnishing in the room, and pausing. While she could shift the armor to the stand, she might also need to put it on for the day. Exhaling, the Warden pulled the gambeson she was holding over her head and started dressing herself. Today she would put on the full armor, going forward she could wear less as circumstances allowed.  
  
As she finished strapping her lion-engraved Warden’s plate around her chest, she heard a knock at the door. “Who is it?”  
  
“Amice, my lady.”  
  
 _Oh, right._ Joy blinked a moment as she remembered. “Come in!”  
  
The door opened, and in stepped a young woman, one of the castle’s servants who had shown Joy to her room the night before. She kept her light brown hair in a ponytail, and was wearing a simple but well kept dark green dress. The maid glanced across Joy’s body, or more specifically the armor she was putting on.  
  
“I’m sorry, milady!” she said hastily, averting her gaze and keeping her head bowed. “I didn’t mean to be so late. I swear, I’m…”  
  
“It’s fine,” Joy interrupted after a moment of confusion wondering why she was suddenly so contrite. “You didn’t do anything wrong: I told you I was going to sleep in, didn’t I?”  
  
“You did, mi-” she stopped herself, putting a hand to her lips as she cleared her throat. “You did, my lady. But if you do not need help with dressing, I can at least see to unpacking the rest of your belongings.”  
  
“Thank you,” the Warden nodded as she glanced between the pack and dresser. “You can just lay out the odds and ends on the desk, I’ll sort through them later.”  
  
“Of course,” Amice bowed her head again and set about working on that, leaving the Warden to continue working on her armor - namely getting on the smaller plate components like the couters and gauntlets.   
  
As Joy pulled the metal protection over her left hand, she paused as she saw the maid had moved on to the clothes that had been packed beneath the assorted odds-and-ends, pulling out a worn blue tunic. “Amice, what is your usual job?”  
  
“Hmm?” the maid paused as she was checking to see if the shirt needed laundering. “I am one of the castle handmaidens, mostly helping gentlewomen like yourself and seeing to the guest rooms.”  
  
The Warden nodded along, moving on to equipping her right gauntlet. “And do you know how to handle armor?”  
  
That caused the maid to hesitate as she laid out the tunic. “I’m sorry my lady, but I am a serf rather than a squire.”  
  
“Oh, I didn’t realize that. You are quite well spoken.”  
  
Amice shrugged, her cheeks reddening. “My mother was a servant in the castle, and she made sure I learned how to speak properly, especially to my betters.”  
  
“Smart woman,” Joy noted as she tightened her grip to make sure the gauntlet was on properly, then frowned. “I appreciate the help, but shouldn’t you be in the fields? It _is_ harvest time.”  
  
“Yes, but we have enough fieldhands,” she insisted as she glanced towards Dusk, which was propped against the desk in its sheath. Joy gave her a nod, and the maid carefully grabbed the weapon, continuing as she handed it to her. “Besides, it is not every day that I have the honor of serving a Warden.”  
  
A smile crept across Joy’s lips as she took the weapon and looped the belt it was connected to around her waist, tightening it. “That might not be the case for much longer. Did Sir Dicun say if you were being assigned to me in the long term, or is it just for now?”  
  
“As long as you reside here and do not feel otherwise, my service is yours, my lady.”  
  
The Warden nodded again, running a hand along her gauntlet. “Thank you, Amice.”  
  
XXXXX  
  
Joy left Amice to deal with the bed and her other chores, and made her way through the halls. Like the bedroom, the walls had been painted red, though decoration was absent save for a few banners. She briefly wondered whether that was caused by the name or vice versa, before putting the question aside. Cross had told her to head down for breakfast when she woke up, and while there was no rush she had no reason to tarry either.  
  
The Warden had been situated on the third floor of the castle, in a wing of suites that various members of the castle’s elite resided in. Though it was isolated in that it only had one exit, the stairs down, it was not unbearably so as the stairs led into a common room, and that common room also had a second set of stairs that led down into the main hall of the castle on the ground floor.  
  
This hall, Holden Cross’ throne room, contrasted heavily with Apollyon’s. Whereas the legion’s warlord chose to be bleak and uninviting, Cross had his decorated more. It was still solemn from the darker shade of red that made the base of the walls, but it was well lit thanks to the large window above facing the castle’s main courtyard to the north and when night fell, braziers along the walls could be lit to ensure that the ancient statues of knights that lined the hall would remain seen.  
  
As Joy stepped into the main hall, the throne was to her left and flanked by a number of chairs. Two long tables accompanied each set of chairs, where a number of knights and courtiers were sitting as breakfast was being served. A third square table was moved into the center, before the throne where Holden Cross was talking to the two men to his left. Once glance across made one thing clear to her: she had overdressed.  
  
“Ah, Warden!” a familiar knight said, sitting a few seats down from Cross’ right. Unlike when she had seen him in the field, he now wore a green jacket, though he still had a stag embroidered onto it. “Still in good health?”  
  
“I am, Sir Leon,” she answered with a faint smile. “Though, I should address…”  
  
“No need, just take your seat,” Cross interrupted as he glanced her way briefly, gesturing to the chair at his right.  
  
Joy dipped her head and made her way around the table, settling in as Cross returned to the matter he was discussing with his two courtiers. Yes, she was absolutely overdressed for breakfast. Cross was down to his arming jacket, and Frederick had his maille on, but that was the most the knights wore. And those who weren’t knights were wearing the typical fare of any court outside of its formal events.  
  
“So, still obeying Apollyon’s dress code?” Leon asked as he grinned faintly. “You don’t need full armor here.”  
  
“I forgot to ask when we arrived,” she answered with a shrug as she removed her gauntlets. “Anyways, how have you been these past weeks Leon?”  
  
“Rebuilding my contingent, though it is a competition for manpower.”  
  
“Expansion,” remarked the stone faced knight sitting past Leon, the one word all he needed.  
  
“The Warborn abandoned a lot, Frederick,” Joy noted as she caught onto the more casual atmosphere that Cross seemed to encourage as he was still talking with the two to his left. Leon shrugged in response, and they settled back into their morning meal.  
  
“So, is Sybilla still asleep?”  
  
“We both planned on sleeping in,” Joy admitted with a shrug. “She might have slept longer than me.”  
  
“Actually, I believe she went to deal with her horse,” the man between Cross and Geofrey remarked.   
  
Joy turned her head to look at him, the man who had briefly met her the night before as he arranged for their quarters. On first glance he seemed perfectly average to her, with no notable scars or particularly striking features. Yet the limp he had walked with the night before had spoken volumes of his past as a Conqueror.  
  
“That sounds about right, Sir Dicun,” the Warden admitted before turning her head slightly to her liege. “Speaking of that, Lord Cross, do you need me this morning?”  
  
“Not today,” the Lawbringer shook his head, “unless you wish to sit through reports on the stocks, revenue, and the ongoing harvest.”  
  
“Not particularly, even if it is important.”  
  
“Right then. Sir Leon, your contingent is simply resting today, yes?”  
  
The other knight winced briefly, though that was more a fact that he was being addressed as he had a mouth full of porridge than any embarrassment. After he managed to swallow, he answered. “Yes my lord, though some of them are using the chance to help their families in the fields.”  
  
“That’s fine, but give the Warden a tour of the castle this morning.” Then he turned his head towards her. “After lunch, Joyeuse, you will accompany me as I inspect the estates.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
XXXXXX  
  
The rest of the morning was unremarkable, save for getting her tour and meeting a few more familiar faces she had not seen since Cross took her to the Blackstone Fortress. Sister Noelle had settled back into her role as the castle’s physician, while Seneca had moved back into his older brother’s workshop until he was needed in the field again. Then there was a tour of the grounds, including where the castle’s knights and those visiting trained. Joy took full advantage of it after the tour, though she avoided severe training in favor of practicing technique.  
  
After lunch, she was back on a horse and accompanied Cross as he went about inspecting his nearby estates, leaving the other knights to their own affairs. It was still overcast, but the lingering drizzle had faded entirely, so while the roads were muddy it was not particularly sticky. The two avoided the worst of it, as they only dismounted at the actual manor houses or wherever the village bailiff resided. Then Joy introduced herself and was introduced to those she would need to know, and Cross was updated on various issues.  
  
Like, in this case, learning that he was needed to render judgment a dispute between two regular troublemakers. Cross’ reaction told Joy most of what she needed to know about them.  
  
“Those two, _again_?”  
  
“I’m afraid so, my lord,” the young bailiff admitted with a sigh, resting a hand on his mace. “Lumer and Rook attacked each other with pitchforks over Rook’s daughter, as she ran off two weeks ago.”  
  
“...didn’t she marry Lumer’s son because he put a child in her?”  
  
“And Rook received poultry in recompense for his daughter’s lost honor. And that’s the issue: because she ran off with some legionnaire, Lumer is demanding his chickens back. I expect that trial by combat will be invoked.”  
  
The Lawbringer sighed, leaning to his right so his weight rested against the wall. Joy glanced between them, doing her best to keep a faint grin from growing. It was not that she found the situation particularly funny, so much as it had been years since she last had to sit in on a case like this, even if like then she did not have to make the decision.  
  
“Fine then,” Cross finally decided. “I’ll hear them out. If Lumer persists on trial by combat after I make my judgment, then I’ll step in.”  
  
“And should Rook invoke it against your decree?”  
  
“Then I’ll deal with him. My judgment on this matter will stand.”  
  
That caused her to frown. “My lord, shouldn’t only one party be able to invoke trial by combat?”  
  
The bailiff chuckled. “Shall I explain, or do you wish to?”  
  
“Go get those two hooligans, Henry,” the Lawbringer ordered as he pushed himself to his feet. Both of the others followed suit. “I’ll handle this.”  
  
“Of course. I’ll see you at the tree.” Bowing his head, he left, leaving Joy to watch before turning back to her commander.  
  
“Right,” Cross said as he gestured out towards the door. “We’ll talk as we walk, this manor has justice handled at the hanging tree.”  
  
Joy felt a faint twinge run through her body as the two grabbed their weapons from their resting place against the table and scooped up their helmets to tuck under their arms. “That is a rather grim place to do it.”  
  
“Yes, an iron cage that might be occupied tends to dampen spirits, but it keeps the proceedings solemn.”  
  
“So, trial by combat?”  
  
“Yes,” Cross admitted as they stepped out the door. “Apollyon opened the right of Trial by Combat to all, rather than limiting it as other realms do.”  
  
“Even the accuser?”  
  
A nod, though he frowned as he continued. “Can we trust the weight of an accusation or claim of innocence when it is not stood up for? So our master says.”  
  
Joy caught the implication as they walked through the mostly empty streets - nearly all the villagers were in the fields right now. “But you disagree.”  
  
“Trial by Combat has its use, to save lives when two lords feud. But it is no guarantee of justice.”  
  
“Not when a strong warrior could just take from the weak over made up slights.”  
  
“That was what the people feared as Apollyon made that edict,” the Lawbringer agreed as he brought his poleaxe up and around to rest on his shoulder. “But she allows champions to be invoked. Her sheep might not fight for themselves, but there are wolves that will.”  
  
He was paraphrasing their master, but it still struck Joy how odd it was to hear her words from another. “And with the legion’s emphasis on being _knights_ , those that would abuse it find themselves challenged.”  
  
“And usually only until one side yielding.” He managed a faint grin. “We might be willing to fight over something stupid, but none of us want to _die_ over it.”  
  
“It would be a very embarrassing end to an entry in the annals,” she chuckled before using her best haughty tone to continue, “‘ _Sir Bors ultimately perished dueling Sir Tristan, started to settle a dispute regarding a missing rabbit.’_ ”  
  
“Hah! Well, I haven’t heard of any knights dying over _that_ , but one of these two idiots probably will.”  
  
And that left enough of a damper to trail off the conversation, leaving her to her own thoughts as she saw their destination. A strong tree, the kind that would be used for a gallows where a permanent one was not built, and there was an old noose swaying gently from the thickest branch. Joy’s eyes were drawn the (fortunately empty) iron cage though. That and the opened trial by combat - another reminder of how Ashfeld was a different realm from where she grew up.  
  
She knew that trial by combat had its purpose: even her own family kept it on the book, increasingly detested as it was. If no certainty could be found, then place trust in God: He would favor the righteous in such a duel, would He not?  
  
 _The righteous, or just the strong?_  
  
That was the counterpoint Joy always felt in the debates over trial by combat, yet now she heard it in Apollyon’s voice. The cynically irreverent takedown of another of society’s norms, thoughts that she had yet rarely voiced, especially after being taught better by her mother and Sir Lancel. All those little inconsistencies she noticed, but by accepting the wisdom of her elders that such was not the case she had learned why. Nobles like herself were born with innate qualities that made them society’s best, ransom was the way of safe return of society’s elite lest the flower of chivalry be trampled underfoot unnecessarily in warfare, trial by combat was trusting God’s favor to the righteous. She learned those lessons and embraced them as her own in her upbringing.  
  
 _Is that what I really believe, or is that what society wants me to believe?_ The thought crossed her mind as she considered it again. Apollyon’s question to her about being a landholder simply because she was a knight.   
  
A question only heightened as Cross had to listen to the two louts and pass judgment. It was a murky situation with no clear answer, and kept devolving into cursing and shouting over who was in the right until the Lawbringer eventually made a ruling. And that just bought him more cursing before trial by combat was invoked.  
  
“Do you intend to counter my judgment?” the Lawbringer demanded, slamming the butt of his poleaxe against the podium - one that bore enough marks to show this was not the first time.  
  
“Yeah I fucking intend to - this is daylight robbery this is!” Lumer demanded. “My boy’s without the wife and Rook stole a year o’ produce from me!”  
  
“Then Rook has his champion.”  
  
“The judge should not be championing the accused! That ain’t just!”  
  
“Then fight my second,” he growled, leaning forward.  
  
Joy glanced at him, then to Lumer, before exhaling. She could refuse, but there was little point: Cross was invoking it to keep his law strong. If she backed out, all she would do was undermine his authority.  
  
So she handed her longsword to him as this was a duel with bludgeons to the first blood. Taking up the wooden stick from the bailiff, the Warden took a few swings to check the balance before eying her opponent. A ruffian, and not even some brigand trying to attack the innocent. Just an angry man who had to pay for his son’s indiscretions. And she was going to hit him until he stopped challenging her lord’s ruling on the matter. For goodness sake it was a duel, no a _beatdown_ , over hens.   
  
But the Warden put that aside long enough to easily defeat him, disarming him after catching and pinning his bludgeon before striking his jaw with her elbow. The metal couter protecting it did the job, a crack and cries of pain as the man fell with a bloody mouth.  
  
 _This was not what I became a knight for,_ Joy thought as she looked at the beaten man on the ground before her. This was beneath her.  
  
XXXXX  
  
“Die already!”  
  
Joy caught the incoming sword strike with her own weapon, half swording the parry and throwing him towards her right with the momentum. She tried to follow up by jamming the tip into his rusty coat of plates, and managed to catch one of the small gaps. Unfortunately, she could not finish it there as she had already extended too far catching him.  
  
So she pulled the sword back and regained her stance, her opponent snarling as she tried to talk him down. “Give up, there’s no honor in this!”  
  
“Sanctimonious bitch!” the robber knight snapped back as he regained his stance and matched her guard with his own longsword.  
  
That was a no, so Joy attacked again as the others finished dealing with the rabble. They exchanged another pair of blows as he intercepted her attack, and as they disengaged Joy was pushed to her right, and again was at the ideal angle. Half-swording again, she brought Dusk’s hilt around and smashed it into the robber knight’s knee, a satisfying _crack_ echoing as he screamed and lost his footing. To end it she brought the blade around and shoved the tip into the most available weak spot: his neck.  
  
Sinking the blade past the mail and the end of his gambeson which covered his throat, her opponent choked in his own blood as he stared at her, before he went limp. Tugging the sword out as she rose, Joy looked around and regained her situational awareness. The battle was over, Cross impaling one of the last ruffians with his poleaxe, and the area fell silent.  
  
“Anyone wounded?” the Lawbringer asked as he looked around. A chorus of answers in succession answered: nothing serious. “Good. Let’s find the supplies and get them back.”  
  
Joy joined her liege as they investigated the wooden hall that dominated this ruin, built with the remains of a stone watchtower’s foundations as a starting point. As they checked that, Frederick and his squire checked the various lean-tos while Sybilla, Leon, and Rufus checked the perimeter.  
  
As they stepped in though, the Warden whistled. “Quite the setup for a passing gang,” she remarked.  
  
“It is,” the Lawbringer agreed with a low growl. Though far from fancy, the main hall had been decorated with a few deer skins and the interior was in relatively good repair for a house in the woods. “Leftover though. This isn’t the first time I’ve cleared this hideout.”  
  
“Really?” Joy asked as she glanced around. “No one ever tried to claim this as their own?”  
  
“You just killed someone who did,” Cross noted as he jerked a thumb back outside. “I’ve wanted to make another manor out of this ruin, but it’s too overgrown for that without lots of manpower.”  
  
“The Vikings?”  
  
“The Vikings, and brigands fleeing to better pickings.” Cross exhaled as he stopped them above a trapdoor to a cellar. Opening it and checking for anyone lying in ambush, the two made their way down. “Here we are!”  
  
“The farmers will be happy to get their crops back,” Joy remarked as she did a quick count of what was there. “It looks like this gang was preparing to winter here.”  
  
“Why here?” the Lawbringer shrugged. “Not that it matters. We’ve dealt with our ‘fertile ground’.”  
  
Joy frowned, wondering whether to broach the topic further or not as they climbed back out. _You may as well,_ she decided as she closed the trap door behind her. “Apollyon’s laws of selection?”  
  
“Yes.” Pausing a moment, Cross glanced out the door before he shook his head. “These ruins outside the Blackstone Fortress are fought over time and again. Thugs, highwaymen, robber knights, all fighting for the last scrap. Apollyon likes to recruit from these desperate ranks, but it requires disorder to continue on.”  
  
“A disorder that Apollyon’s disinterest in ruling leaves?”  
  
He answered with a nod. “Aurelia and I do our best, but the others tolerate some disorder for the potential recruits.”  
  
“That can’t last forever.” The gaze of a sovereign at war inevitably looked away from his lands, but that only lasted as long as there was a war.  
  
“No, it can’t.” Cross shook his head. “My order has done what it can, but we have too much ground to cover.” As they stepped out of the main building, he looked around before changing topic. “Regardless, we have a delivery to make. Go get the horses, I’ll get the others to move it up the ladder.”  
  
She bowed her head and set to work. The small party had come after one of the villages reported that their granary had been robbed. The couple legionnaires stationed there did their best, but they had been ambushed and by the time they fought their way out of it the food had been stolen. Cross brought a few knights and rangers to deal with the affair, and he had known a likely location. Once Rufus and one of his rangers scouted it out, they attacked.  
  
It was the most martial excitement they had in the week and a half since they arrived at Redflow. Given that most days amounted to training or running messages between villages while Cross dealt with matters in Redflow itself, Joy had to admit to excitement when she learned they were going to deal with the brigands. She had kept her eyes open for trouble during her short journeys, but little appeared as was often the case.  
  
Still, it helped her learn the lay of the land and travel was also one of the better times to talk. As it was in this case as they mounted up again, taking a mule and wagon from the brigand camp to haul back the recovered goods. Not that there was much conversation at first even as Joy stayed next to Cross.  
  
“So, any word from your suitors?”  
  
Joy turned, her visor raised for the ride as she saw which dame had moved her horse up further. “Odd time to ask, Sybilla.”  
  
The other knight shrugged. “I was wondering if I was receiving a particular suit, or if Sir Lancel was just testing the waters this morning.”  
  
“No, I hav-” she stopped. “Did you just say ‘Sir Lancel’?”  
  
“Sir Lancel Waycrest, one of the lancers. Why?”  
  
“Oh,” Joy shook her head, a smile crossing her face despite the unfortunate image in her mind. “He shares a given name with the Warden who trained me.”  
  
Cross, who had kept quiet during the exchange, suddenly chuckled. Both glanced at him, but he kept his gaze on the road ahead, so the two took the cue that it was listening by proximity rather than deliberate eavesdropping.  
  
“Anyways,” Sybilla shrugged, “my brother mentioned him when I visited home, but you know how it is.”  
  
“Look for several prospects to find the best one.” And unbidden, Apollyon’s own remarks on the topic bubbled up in her mind. “So, this knight, do you know him?”  
  
“I said he was one of the other lancers, didn’t I? He serves with Lord Guy’s cavalry.”  
  
“Oh, right.” Of course, she probably just missed it as she was doing her own training that morning. “Well, if he came all the way from Aemlianus to visit, I doubt he came for that alone.”  
  
“Only one way to find out, if we get back in time.”  
  
The Warden chuckled. “We will. So, enough of that. How is Lord Guy doing, did he say?”  
  
“Just the usual brigands in the ruins and trying to build up the men and material to reclaim the cathedral.”  
  
Cross weighed in now, turning to look at them. “He keeps trying, but something forces him to abandon the project every time. Usually the Vikings.”  
  
“The shadow still looming over Ashfeld, my lord,” Sybilla admitted. “But now, we might be able to keep them back.”  
  
“We will, one way or another.”  
  
There was nothing much else to say about it, and the ride fell back to silence - at least for the moment, as one of Rufus’ rangers started whistling a drinking song that the others joined in on soon enough.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
As it happened, the young knight who had flirted with Sybilla also declared his ‘ardent admiration’ for Joy. She accepted the compliment as was expected, then moved on with getting her gear off and cleaning up after the long day. That meant heading back to her room, taking off her armor, and changing into something nicer. Though used to getting it off herself, the Warden had taken the time to teach Amice how a knight was to be armed so she could assist.  
  
“You’ve learned quickly,” Joy remarked after they finished. “Are you sure you haven’t handled armor before?”  
  
“Only to carry pieces to the armorsmith,” the maid answered as she took the gambeson, looking across it briefly, and wincing from the smell. “This needs to be washed, though.”  
  
Glancing down at her white undertunic, Joy started removing it as well. If her gambeson was smelling, how much did that smell? She was at least used to the sweat and grime. “You brought the wash basin, right?”  
  
“Sitting on the table, as always.”  
  
“Alright, why don’t you get the dress out while I wash up?”  
  
That kept both of them busy for the next few minutes, the Warden washing herself as the maid readied the dress. Though the norm still had armor as wear for the knights during the day, unlike at the Shard the standard was relaxed for dinner. The norms here allowed for knights to wear civilian clothing, whether it was a fancy jacket or a dress. Given that, once she had the time to she visited the tailor at Redflow to see about getting herself something more ladylike. She also got the material to further decorate it, though she had not had the downtime to really set into embroidering yet.  
  
“Are you sure that's all you need, my lady?” Amice asked as she finished checking the parts of the dress the Warden could not easily see herself.  
  
Joy chuckled as she looked over the white trim around the wrists and ends of her blue dress. “I wear a hennin quite well, but this is just dinner.”  
  
Before anything else could be said, there was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” the Warden asked, frowning.  
  
“It’s Marcus,” came the answer from the servant on the other side of the door. “Some adventurer showed up to deliver a letter. Said it was from a ‘Sir Albrecht’.”  
  
She recognized which one he was talking about as she walked towards the door. “Come in, I’ll take it.”  
  
He opened the door, bowing his head as he entered and handed her the letter, before making a prompt exit after Joy thanked him. She made her way to the desk, settling into the chair as she opened the letter, leaving Amice to take away linen that needed a good washing from the day’s excursions.   
  
_Joyeuse, I hope that you are doing well, and have settled well into your new home. Though we only spoke briefly at our master’s stronghold, absence since then has been enough to make me sure of my admiration. I hope that the feeling is mutual, even if you surely must have greater affairs as befits your station as a Warden. Even if not, perhaps the time to meet again is coming soon._  
  
 _I know not what duties you bear now, but my service to Lord von Eisleben has brought me further east than I expected as we pursue the cults of the north. Their presence in Ashfeld remains strong, especially as rebels stir in the liberated lands seeking to restore that tyranny. While the hunt is tiring, I only need to look to your courage at Harrowgate to be reassured of the righteousness of our cause. And perhaps, to dare hope we might face the same foes?_  
  
 _Regardless, I hope to have the honor of you writing back, to hear how you are faring. May you remain in good health._  
  
 _With ardent admiration, Sir Albrecht Rottdall_  
  
Despite herself, Joy felt herself smiling. No, it was not particularly eloquent - or rather, it was tired convention masquerading as such - but it was not like he had much experience in courtship. And to be fair, neither did she. It was the gesture that mattered, to take time and the effort to try and light a candle. The compliments to her courage and station. Romance as befits a lady of gentle birth, right?  
  
Shaking her head, she put the letter into the desk drawer. It was good to know he remained interested, but at the moment there was not much she could do, especially as she made her way down to dinner with the others.  
  
But as fortune would have it, the letter would become relevant as another messenger arrived as they ate. The legionnaire who had been sent was tired from her journey, but as the castle’s servants tended to her Cross took the letter and read it. The hall fell silent, all eyes on him as whatever entertainment from the jester or ongoing discussions came to a halt.  
  
“So, that’s how it is,” the Lawbringer exhaled as he finished reading. He leaned forward, his arming jacket pressing against the table as he looked at the letter.  
  
“My lord, what happened?” Joy asked as she frowned. Cross simply handed her the letter, and she read over it. It was from Davis, and hastily written at that.  
  
 _Lord Cross, I write to you in haste. While patrolling the neighboring lands yet granted, I learned that knights from Tholen have been coming eastwards, into those lands. So far no one has been killed unlawfully, but these are Orobas’ men. I do not know his intent, but the last rumor I heard involved claims of cult activity. I will try to discover what I can, but Aurich is still undermanned._  
 _Faithfully, Lord Davis_  
  
And that made her wonder just what the other warlord was up to as she handed the letter back to Cross, who passed it to Sir Dicun so he could read.  
  
“There was another message earlier,” the Warden admitted as she realized it might be important. “From Sir Albrecht.”  
  
“Karl’s son?” the Lawbringer asked, to which she nodded. “Did he say anything, or was it just wooing?”  
  
Despite herself, she felt her cheeks reddening as a few of the others smirked. “He wrote for love, but mentioned that Lord von Eisleben was chasing was rebel activity and the ‘cults of the north’.”  
  
Cross exhaled as he leaned back. “Damn it, it’s barely been a fortnight. Doesn't he have better things to do?”  
  
“Apparently not,” Dicun answered as he finished reading. “So, should I make preparations for you to leave?”  
  
“As soon as possible. This is politics, zeal and God-damned politics.”  
  
Joy considered the implications for a moment and realized what a possible side-effect, intended or not (though probably intended) of Orobas acting so freely in areas that Cross was supposed to select lords for. “You think he is trying to sap your authority, my lord?”  
  
“I would never put it past him, even if it is ‘only’ a bonus.” He shook his head. “We head out for Aurich tomorrow, and from there figure out what to do.”  
  
“And picking candidates to rule those lands?” Dicun asked. “That is probably the more vital matter, since it lets him run around with such brazen impunity.”  
  
“Geofrey, after dinner draw up another copy of the list. While there, I will decide which candidates are best suited.”  
  
“Of course, my lord,” the scribe answered. Dinner resumed shortly thereafter, but it was without the relaxation that had preceded the message. The knights knew they were about to be out in the field, and the courtiers would miss their friends and family. Again.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
They left mid morning the next day, and made surprisingly good time despite the fact that as they closed on Aurich it began to rain. But knowing that autumn’s chill had come, they all had cloaks on to ward off the worst of it, even if they were glad that Davis had been ready to receive them in Aurich. The battered castle still bore the scars of Apollyon’s assault, but he had warm food and beds ready for them.  
  
The foggy morning after, Davis hosted a meeting in the main hall as his war room currently had the slight problem of having collapsed during the previous siege. He relayed all he had learned, which unfortunately was not as much as he had hoped. Orobas had been sticking to the territories where the lands Cross was to grant met Orobas’. They had a few locations, but Davis’ men had been stretched too thin to thoroughly search.  
  
Given that, the Lawbringer eventually decided to have the men be brought split up to cover more ground. If they found the warlord, they could find out what he was up to and report back to him as he investigated an abandoned mine that would be perfect for rebels to base in. They doubted that Orobas would risk an open confrontation even if he had numbers, but that warning still lingered in Joy’s mind, especially when mixed with the last time she put herself into a position that saw her facing down a bunch of rogue knights with only one companion.  
  
“Fourth village,” Sybilla noted as they were on the approach to the next settlement they were to check out. “Let’s hope this doesn’t take too long, it’s getting late.”  
  
“Or it’s just the clouds,” Joy pointed out as she looked up. Still overcast, though there was no rain at the moment. “But you’re right, it is getting late and I would rather not have to intrude on some serfs scraping by.”  
  
“Definitely not out here,” she agreed as they urged their horses on. The village was at the base of a hill, a windmill at the top tilting slowly from what few drafts of wind lingered that day, but as they entered the lone street the village was conspicuous in its silence. The few residents visible were talking to each other in hushed tones under porches or just visible through the window.  
  
Something was off, and both knights knew it as out of habit their hands inched closer to their weapons. Neither expected a fight, not yet anyways, but they knew something was off. The harvest season was wrapping up, often there would be some fair or at least a celebration of some sorts for another year’s survival.  
  
They stopped by the tavern - or given the Nordic carvings on the frame, a mead hall until the Warborn were rightfully evicted - and hitched their horses to the stone fence that encircled it before stepping past.  
  
“Something’s wrong, you’d think there’d be a crowd here,” Sybilla remarked as she pointed to the empty tables outside.  
  
“It might just be exhaustion,” Joy offered to try and think there was an innocent explanation. After all, harvest season was a scramble to get as much done in as short a time as possible. “The tavern keeper is probably inside.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Stepping inside, Joy frowned as she noticed that it really was empty. All save for one man who was stirring a kettle. A man who stopped and froze as he saw the standards worn by the two knights who stepped in.  
  
“I, ah… good dames, what can I do for you?” the man asked, who had a very thick beard and spoke his Latin with a distinct accent, even if he had a crucifix around his neck.  
  
“You’re not in trouble,” Joy insisted as she felt herself frowning. “But where is everyone?”  
  
“You mean you’re not here for…”  
  
They were interrupted by a loud thump at the door. The two Blackstones turned, hands instinctively falling to their weapons but neither drew as they saw who it was. A local, a farmer by her dirty green work dress and tied up hair, who seemed out of breath.  
  
“Thank God, a Warden!” she gasped as her knees bent from exhaustion, forcing her to lean on the door. “Warden, you have to help!”  
  
“What’s going on? Is someone hurt?” Joy asked, taking a step forward as she let go of Dusk’s hilt.  
  
“There’s a madman at the mill! Saying that the miller’s a heathen, a traitor! He’s hurt no one, dutifully Christian even when the northmen were here!”  
  
“What madman?” Sybilla insisted as she took a step forward. “Are we talking about rebels or Blackstones?”  
  
“B… Blackstones, milady,” the farm woman insisted as she looked between. “The leader had lots of crosses on his standards!”  
  
“Orobas,” Joy growled as she clenched her left hand into a fist. “Sybilla, go get Lord Cross - and hurry!”  
  
“Joy, you don’t know what you’re walking into!” the dame insisted.  
  
“Just go! You’re the better rider and the miller won’t have time.”  
  
“I…” Sybilla started before exhaling and putting a hand on her sallet helmet. ”Fine, but don’t get yourself killed. This is not worth it.”  
  
Joy frowned at the implication, but Sybilla pushed past them and got on her horse.   
  
That left the Warden to turn to the farmer. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure this out,” she insisted before she ran out herself. This was what she became a knight for - to help the innocent in their time of need. Now she just had to get there before it was too late.  
  
And in her haste to get to the mill, she completely missed the figure watching her from one of the alleys, her brown hood pulled over a demonic mask of a helmet, arming sword and dagger still in their sheathes as she watched silently before following.  
  
XXXXX  
  
Winded from haste, Joy pushed her way through the crowd as the townsfolk had gathered to see what was going on, whispering amongst themselves worriedly of the miller’s fate. The crowd began to part as the Warden pushed through, which only sent further whispering, whisperings that the retinue ahead noticed by the time she was even halfway through the crowd.  
  
But even with many of the villagers still in the way, there was no mistaking it: Orobas had a contingent of a dozen or so knights, and beyond that squires and companions. All of them in Blackstone colors like her, and most of them with a cross on their surcoat, tabard, standard, shield, or other heraldry. Orobas’ retinue of devout warriors, each one a battle hardened knight.  
  
Orobas stood as the center of attention, helmetless at the moment as he had handed it to another knight Joy recognized. Her heart almost skipped a beat, but there was no mistaking it: Albrecht was here and holding Orobas’ flat topped helmet while the warlord did his best impression of a Lawbringer.   
  
No, Orobas was not wearing plate armor nor was a part of that dutiful order, but his thick surcoat sure gave the appearance. And even then, he still held a poleaxe in his right hand even as he used the other to fish a necklace from a belt pouch. His words only confirmed it.  
  
“We found this pagan talisman on your property,” Orobas growled as he looked down at the miller, holding the silver amulet shaped like Thor’s hammer by its string. “Tell me, have you been harboring those who worship false idols, or done so yourself?”  
  
“Our home is always open to the weary traveller!” the miller pleaded as he struggled in his restraints. “Mercy m'lord, please! Mercy for those who take in weary refugees!”  
  
“Refugees? From where?”  
  
“Savona, m'lord!”  
  
 _Could it be-_ Joy put the thought aside. She could figure out the timing of it later, right now she had to intervene. And with Orobas’ knights alerting each other to her presence, now was the time.  
  
“Lord von Eisleben!” she shouted as she broke past the front of the crowd, her armored boots pressing into the mud as she did. “Why are you harassing this man?”  
  
The warlord stopped his interrogation, turning to look at her with a scowl as Albrecht’s eyes went wide behind him.  
  
“Who dares-” the warlord started before he realized who had called out to him. “Ah, Warden Maylis,” he dipped his head briefly. “This young champion prays for your health.”  
  
“I’m certain,” Joy answered as she briefly followed the warlord’s offhand gesture to Albrecht before returning her focus to her liege’s rival. “But you did not answer my question: why are you harassing this man?”  
  
“Your conviction to just treatment is noble, fair dame, but unnecessary here.” Orobas pointed his finger towards the miller kneeling in the mud. “This man has harbored pagans, certainly agents of demons seeking to ensure the land remains corrupted by their foul taint.”  
  
“If they came from Savona and left, they’re refugees,” she snapped back. “I should know, I released their escort.”  
  
“Yes, I remember. How honorable, to spare a foe that would not show you mercy in return.”  
  
“And there is no honor in attacking those who cannot defend themselves. If you truly care for justice, then stand down. Lord Cross is at Silver Spire, investigating the mines for the rebels your ward claims you hunt.”  
  
Albrecht shifted as he was brought up, Orobas glancing at him for a moment before shrugging. “Lord Cross was garrisoned far away. I took immediate action.”  
  
“Then stand down,” an order that lost much of its bite as the other knights were reaching for their weapons. “This man is not going anywhere, and the only crime you’ve accused him of is helping those in need.”  
  
“So it may appear, but to present such a facade is a foundational skill of devilry.”  
  
“Devilry?” she demanded as she felt both hands clenched into fists. “You see devilry in a man being nothing more than a good Christian? You see evil in a man helping those less fortunate than himself?!”  
  
Orobas stopped, closing his eyes as his face scrunched up briefly as he inhaled, then with a sharp exhale his face relaxed as he turned towards her. Joy held her ground even as the other knights stepped closer to their master, ready to draw their swords, maces, and war hammers.  
  
“My lady,” Albrecht said as he took a step forward, between them. “Please, do not do anything rash. No one wants violence today.”  
  
“Then convince your master to stand down.”  
  
“I will not stand idle,” Orobas added as he closed his fist around the amulet, like he was trying to crush it. “If Cross cannot keep his lands clean of corruption, then I shall purge the taint myself. Brother Erasmus, prepare the brodequin! We get our answer tonight.”  
  
One of the retinue knights bowed his head, turning to grab the planks of wood and rope as another knight, a Conqueror, grabbed the miller by his rough tunic and dragged him to a stool. All as his wife and children, held back by a pair of sergeants, cried for their loved one about to be tortured.  
  
He was not going to stand down. That much was clear to the Warden as she glanced back only to see the crowd backing down. Mothers and fathers turning their children away and covering their ears, knowing what screams would await as they prepared to tie the planks around the miller’s legs. He would scream as the bones that let him walk and the flesh encasing them was crushed between the planks. All because Orobas or one of his men happened to dig up a necklace at his mill.  
  
 _I can do something about it!_ Joy thought, but a warning cut through her mind. Cross was at least two hours away even if both he and Sybilla pushed their horses to exhaustion, but she could still imagine his hand stopping her from drawing her blade. Was this something she could do, had she thought this through?  
  
 _“I appreciate initiative, but not like this.”_  
  
Those were his words as he ended his reprimand over the last time she went off on her own. This time, her orders were to find Orobas and figure out what was going on. That was done. But if she was to do more? She took another step forward, her hand sliding towards Dusk’s hilt.  
  
Albrecht saw the motion, already jogging towards her even as he still held his master’s helmet. She hesitated as she considered her course of action, long enough for him to reach her and try to talk to her.  
  
“Joyeuse, please,” he begged as he reached her, “do not draw your sword. Not over this!”  
  
“I am a Warden, Sir Albrecht,” she insisted as she looked him over. “Or is this what you think of when you look to my courage?”  
  
He hesitated as his own words cut back. “Healing Ashfeld of its wounds is more than burnt fields and broken stones. Some wounds are far deeper, and must be healed spiritually.”  
  
“Is that what you believe, or is that just what he wants you to believe?” she insisted, looking down at the warlord’s helmet. “You’re not his man. You are no zealot.”  
  
“No, but I am serving in his retinue! If I-” he stopped and leaned closer, grabbing her left shoulder with his free hand. “If you attack, he could have you beheaded!”  
  
That context made her pause. She was a knight sworn to the Blackstone Legion, and Orobas was one of the legion’s leaders. Attacking him to stop this was treason, and she had not given any thought to what that would mean. Her oaths were hers to hold, even if she disagreed with their binding right now.  
  
But she had other oaths too, ones that called on her to act. She could see the miller being held down against the stool as one of Orobas’ knights - ‘Brother’ Erasmus - tied the planks around his legs. Time was of the essence, and she had to get past her admirer and-  
  
 _My ardent admirer?_ She realized as she felt her expression soften. It was not a well thought out idea, but it was her best chance for a third option. Perhaps she could find that answer in convention.  
  
“Albrecht,” she said as she met his gaze. “You love me, don’t you?”  
  
“Was my admiration unclear?”  
  
“If you want to be worthy of my hand, _prove it_. Talk Lord von Eisleben down, get him to stop this madness!”  
  
“Wh- oh no no no no, are you mad?!”  
  
“This can end in bloodshed,” she continued as she could only hope she was on the right path, “or you could stop it. Talk him into standing down, just a few hours.”  
  
“And if I can’t?” he asked, looking between her and the miller about to be tortured rapidly as she saw his expression faltering into a panicked grimace.  
  
“You can. You’ve known him far longer than I have. This is your moment, Sir Albrecht Rottdal. Prove to us all what kind of knight you are, or stay out of my way.”  
  
“I- damn it, this isn’t courage, this is suicide!”  
  
 _“Tighten the ropes!”_ Orobas ordered.  
  
“Last chance,” she snapped at him as her hand was tight around Dusk.  
  
“Wha- Warden, _don’t_!”  
  
The miller’s first scream of pain cut all thoughts and considerations off. She was the pinnacle of knighthood, sworn to the wellbeing of all, and here she was scheming like some backstabbing courtier in the face of it! Conscious thought faded and action took over.  
  
Grabbing Albrecht’s shoulder, Joy threw him aside. He fell into the mud, while she slapped her visor down and drew.  
  
The crowd caught on first, gasping as she picked up speed for the charge.  
  
Orobas’ retinue were not far behind, shouting their warnings.  
  
And the monster himself was last to react as she charged in with a yell. “Let him go!”  
  
The fanatical warlord turned, jaw dropping as he saw her charging in. He dropped the amulet he used as evidence into the mud so he could get both hands onto his poleaxe, moving it into position to stop her attack. He did not need to, as another of his knights intervened and put a shield up to meet the Warden’s longsword.  
  
“You _dare_?!” he demanded as Joy recovered her footing from being intercepted.  
  
She turned her attention towards that bodyguard. What was he expecting to do, a common knight of no order against a Warden? He may have stopped her initial strike with the longsword, but she parried his attempted retaliation and knocked him away with a cut across his hip. A second knight came in, but she stopped his strike and spun with it, throwing him into a third knight with the second’s momentum. In a cluster, numbers could be a weapon for her.  
  
“My lord!” she barely heard Albrecht shout. “I-”  
  
“I’ll deal with this!” the young knight’s current commander shouted. “Watch the crowd!”  
  
As Joy grabbed one of the knights with a bill that tried to attack her, hurling him into the others, she scoffed. “Then face me, knight to knight!”  
  
“Guard, take her down!”  
  
That was a no, and now that they had a chance to retake their initiative Orobas’ retinue knights spread out their formation to surround her. Though they abandoned their interrogation, the miller and his family were still held by the squires and companions.  
  
The first new attacker approached with a one-handed sword and shield, but his blow was caught by Dusk and she shoved him back. Her follow up failed, and she felt the pushback as she had no time to spare. This had to end fast.  
  
And it was at that point she noticed that the knights had not just spread out, but were falling into mutually supporting positions.  
  
“Surround her, don’t give her room!” a bodyguard shouted before striking with his longsword.  
  
Joy reacted to that, and the man who came after him, constantly shifting her position to turn against the next external attacker. Every time she tried to take an opportunity against one, another would come in to stop her from wounding his or her comrade. They knew how to gang up on an opponent: they did not throw in random blows that got in each other’s way in an effort to batter her into submission. They attacked, even allowing themselves to face her punishment, to create opportunities for another of their allies to strike.  
  
And while she did get a few hits in, like a cut across one knight’s bascinet, it always cost her if she let it fly. Even if her target took it, it left her vulnerable to an attack from another angle. Like a cut from her left shoulder to her right hip that she took as she hit the dame’s helmet.  
  
Pain exploded across her whole body as she felt a chill where the sword had managed to cut through further. That had been a heavy blow, one followed up by another knight striking with his shield to push her off her feet entirely.  
  
Splashing into the mud that soaked her - armor, cut in half standards, and open wound alike - she had to put that aside as she rolled with it and got back on her feet in time to stop another attack. At this point technique was fading; the next attack had been stopped by simply moving her longsword up like a draw before swinging it in an arc before her - one handed.  
  
Two of the zealots staggered back either because it had hit their arm or had struck across the hand they held their weapon with, but neither had been taken out entirely as their vambraces protected them. The third had managed to get a shield in front of him before it struck, the blow glancing over the wooden defense, before a fourth knight caught the attack with his own blade. And worse, he pushed it along further, sending Joy into another spin that forced her to back off and regain her footing.  
  
“Stand down, Warden! Please!” she could hear Albrecht shouting from beyond the dim.  
  
“Not today!” she answered, her voice raspy as she snarled between breaths. She was not even sure of where he was relative to her, as the parry had pushed her back in a blur. Still, it had one upside: all of her opponents were ahead of her again.  
  
Not that it lasted as they already moved up to surround her, keeping their loose but mutually supporting spacing with full confidence that their comrades would protect them. She had to knock a few of them out, and fast. So she went for the most vulnerable, the one that had advanced furthest.  
  
He had been the one that parried her desperate swing, and the suddenness of her next attack allowed her to slip past his guard for two quick strikes across the chest. A third and heavier slash followed that up, strong enough to knock the blade aside and his his arm again. He staggered away, right arm badly bleeding as his blackened mail had failed to stop it, but another came in to save him.  
  
Joy narrowly intercepted the strike from a war hammer, only for a follow up shield strike to knock the Warden back as it hit her head. Her helmet prevented the blow from penetrating, but she could feel the heat from where she took it and grunted in pain. At most generous, she just got a new bruise. More likely a black eye, but adrenaline kept her going as she recovered and half-sworded a strike to her attacker’s knee. The enemy knight wailed as her legs gave way, even if they had not been severed.  
  
“Ansley!” one of Orobas’ bodyguards shouted, rushing in before Joy could even consider a finisher. She turned to defend, only for another attack to come in from behind her.  
  
It was a heavy blow to the back of her shoulders, a mace strike, that knocked to the side. Her teeth clattered as the blow echoed through her bones. It had not broken the shoulder it had hit, her pauldrons mitigating the worst of that, but that had not stopped the force of the blow from transferring through and leaving her in an unbalanced stagger.  
  
And dazed by the blow, she had just narrowly missed the parry to stop the avenging attacker’s sword cut across her thigh. Grunting as the blow cut in, the Warden tried to defend again only for another blow to come in from the other side - another hard slash that her right arm and the vambrace she wore caught, and she nearly lost her grip on Dusk.  
  
 _Keep fighting!_ That was what the Warden told herself as she desperately swung again, trying to get herself enough room to regain her footing. The enemy knights had caught on, however, and while one locked her blade in a parry, another struck at her sword arm again. The sword strike hit true and hard, breaking past the vambrace and Joy not only felt the chill of blood loss as it bit into the mail beneath, but her grip fatally loosened. Dusk’s hilt fell from her hand, leaving her without a drawn weapon.  
  
And still caught in the stagger from that injury, another strike came in - a thrust poleaxe that cut into the metal armor protecting her right torso and rib cage before being deflected away as it hit her Warden’s plate. Screaming in pain as she lost her senses from the blow, Joyeuse stumbled back only to feel a bill hook around her leg and tug. The next thing she knew, she was in the air and landed facedown in the mud.  
  
“Surrender!” Orobas ordered as she hit the ground.  
  
Struggling, Joy tried to support her weight with the first hand that could get to the ground - her sword arm, a mistake that cost her as she immediately fell face first back into the mud. She tried her other hand, but a kick to the gut knocked her over.  
  
 _Not like this!_ The begging plea echoed in Joyeuse’s mind as she hit the ground and landed face up. She could barely see as she lay in the mud, alone and with no one to help her as she felt as if she was both on fire and freezing at the same time. She was blacking out, and she could not even hear anything as her ears were still ringing from the blows. Was this what it felt like to die? It couldn’t end like this, could it?  
  
At that moment, something changed. Courage left with a stain, one thankfully hidden by the mud her hose and standards were drenched in. They had demanded her surrender, right? But anything she attempted to say was choked out as she suffered further kicks from her attackers keeping her down. All that escaped her hoarse throat as the blows ceased was an unladylike groan as conscious thought had ended.  
  
And lying on her back, a helmetless knight in his long surcoat stood before her, planting his poleaxe into the ground hard enough to splash more mud onto her legs. She was at his mercy, unable to do anything except an unwitting prayer for help, for something to save her.  
  
It was a prayer that went unanswered as she lost consciousness.   
  
XXXXX  
  
“Come on, faster!” Holden Cross yelled as his horse was laboring from the burden. He very well may have irrevocably wounded the mount, but a war horse could be replaced. A Warden? He already did that once. _Why did I send her off with Sybilla, I should have kept her with me!_  
  
But no, he had insisted on investigating the most likely hideout of any group of rebels that Orobas might be hunting, the mines of the village known as the Silver Spire. Now abandoned as the mines had ran dry, but with all the shafts intact. Nothing had been there, just as he feared, only for Sybilla to show up with even worse news.  
  
He wasted no time, but as he saw the village ahead he knew it was too late already. The people had returned to their homes, there was no crowd at the hilltop mill.  
  
And he could see Blackstone Knights milling about the village green as Orobas was speaking with the local bailiff.  
  
“ _Martin you sanctimonious hypocrite!”_ Holden yelled as he rode in, letting his horse stumble to a halt before throwing his legs over to dismount, crouching the landing with his poleaxe ready as he strode forward. “Where is my second?!”  
  
Orobas turned, grabbing his own weapon as other knights readied themselves. Holden was undeterred as behind him his own knights had come, dismounting likewise as their horses were too exhausted to do battle.  
  
“Is this the protection of a Lawbringer, Asmodai?” the other warlord demanded as he hefted up his weapon and stepped towards him. “Showing up hours after a young woman already did the bleeding for you?”  
  
“Where is she?” he demanded against as he closed in. A bodyguard with a billhook stepped in his way, only for Holden to just grab him by the face and shove him aside, leaving him to trip over a basket that had been left out.  
  
“Your Warden? Enduring the punishment of her failure.” Orobas threw his free hand to the side to emphasize the point.  
  
“Drop the theatrics and give me a straight answer.”  
  
By this point the two warlords had stepped up to each other, within range of each other’s weapons with their supporters behind them. The crowd was silent, parents ushering their children inside lest they see bloodshed again or running to fetch them if they had strayed.  
  
But as they faced off, dagger landed between them. Both stopped and turned as a Peacekeeper strode out of the tavern. There was no mistaking it.  
  
“Mercy,” Holden growled as he looked at her. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Saving your second,” she answered with a shrug. “Again.”  
  
“Your second attacked my men in objection to our efforts to root out the corruption here,” Orobas added. “She stood a champion in trial by combat, and failed.”  
  
“And was it a _trial_ , or is that an excuse?” Holden narrowed his eyes at Orobas.  
  
“Would you rather I execute her for trying to murder a dozen valiant knights - unprovoked at that?! You should be on your knees praising my benevolence!”  
  
Ignoring his rival’s posturing, the Lawbringer looked to the Peacekeeper. “And why was there a supposed trial?”  
  
“Lord von Eisleben is conducting an inquisition,” Mercy explained in her usual calm. “The Warden objected to the torture applied, and stuck to protect the miller and his family.”  
  
“And the miller?”  
  
“Condemned, for his champion failed to prove his innocence in battle. God has made his judgment on the heathens clear!”  
  
The Lawbringer again ignored his rival as he kept his focus on Mercy. “Is Joy alive?”  
  
“Despite her best efforts otherwise,” Orobas insisted. “Her fate is in God’s hands now. I would pray for her sins, for she has committed many this day.”  
  
“Shut up and let the adults talk,” Holden snapped as Mercy picked up her dagger. “Show me where she is, _now_.”  
  
“Of course,” Mercy answered, bowing her head ever so slightly before leading him inside the tavern. All merriment, or what could be found on such a dark day, had ceased entirely as those trying to drink away the day’s horrors watched in silence as Mercy led him into the back, to where the innkeeper kept several rooms for travellers.  
  
One room at the end of the hall was guarded by one of Orobas’ knights - no, not one of his retinue. Albrecht.  
  
“Lord Cross! Your second is…”  
  
“He knows,” Mercy interrupted. “Go get a drink, she will remain safe.”  
  
Albrecht hesitated a moment, glancing between the two, before deciding against challenging a Lawbringer still carrying his poleaxe. Mercy opened the door and led him inside.  
  
Joy lay on the bed, still unconscious even if she was breathing. A blanket covered all but her head and shoulders, but that was all he needed to see to understand how badly she had been wounded. A black eye and bruises covered her face, and her right shoulder was even worse - visibly black and blue. A wet cloth was rested on her forehead, which meant the fever. To see why he only looked to the bandages, several of which looped around her neck and shoulders. Just how much of her blood had been exposed to the mud before Mercy dressed those wounds?  
  
That one fact suddenly stood out to him beyond all others: Mercy had been there.  
  
He immediately dropped his poleaxe, the weapon clanging to the ground and causing the Peacekeeper to turn. Before she could properly react, the Lawbringer had his left hand around her throat and he slammed her into the wall, bringing both hands to secure his grip. The Peacekeeper instinctively tried to pry his grasp free, clinging to his steel gauntlets in vain.  
  
“Start talking,” Holden demanded as he stared past her mask. “You had a hand in this.”  
  
“So,” Mercy cleared her throat as best she could, “accusing.”  
  
“You know what really happened. What game is Apollyon playing this time?”  
  
“Not her... game!” she answered before her voice was completely choked out. Holden loosened his grip, even if he kept her pinned against the wall.  
  
Inhaling sharply, the Peacekeeper continued. “I asked a... friend... of my order to relay what devout Martin was up to. The Warden acted of her own accord, unaware of my presence.”  
  
“Why the smoke and mirrors?”  
  
Mercy shrugged, letting her hands fall down as he left her with enough room to breathe. “Apollyon has taken a great interest in the Warden. I wanted to see why. She is a good person, Holden.”  
  
He stared at her for another few moments, weighing the knowledge and assessing. Mercy was Apollyon’s assassin, but too many of their master’s tendencies had rubbed off on her. But she had also intervened, though to say Mercy saved Joy’s life again meant little if the Peacekeeper had orchestrated to endanger her in the first place.  
  
Snarling as the thought ran through his mind, the Lawbringer shoved the Peacekeeper back and let go. She hit the wall, revealing she had quietly drawn her dagger when he loosened his grip, but she kept it to the side.  
  
“If she dies,” he warned as he looked down at the Peacekeeper, “It will be your head.”  
  
Mercy said nothing in response to the threat, and grabbing his poleaxe the Lawbringer turned to see about what to do with this mess. This was not over, even if both warlords left without exchanging blows.


	16. Memento Mori

The first stirrings of awareness brought with it pain. As her eyes opened, a red haze was all she could see, and some other color in the center. A loud and involuntary groan escaped her lips as her battered bodied stirred. Was this one last gasp of consciousness, or was it something else? Then she took a conscious breath, and her mind was suddenly awhirl. Where was she? Why was her head on something fluffy? Where was the mud- _Am I alive?_

That question brought Joy to her senses, and she forced herself to ignore the pain so she could figure out what was happening.

Immediately she was struck with the realization that she was not only without her armor, but had been stripped down to her underclothes. Strips of cloth tied down around her body were the only other thing she had, but she was not cold. After all, she was tucked into a familiar blanket with her head against a familiar pillow.

Blinking to clear the fog in her eyes, Joy was able to look around tilting her head slightly each way. It took a few moments, but she recognized the red painted walls and the stonework in the ceiling. She was in Redflow Castle, and more specifically her bedroom. Tucked into her bed. Safe. Alive.

Using her left arm as that hurt less, she propped herself up - very slowly, as she was wincing from the pain with the movement - against the bed’s mantle and looked around. Her room was mostly as she remembered before leaving, save that her armor was on the stand and looking freshly repaired, if bearing several new marks. Her sword and other gear was lying against the armoire next to the stand.

“What the…” Joy started before how dry her throat was caused her to stop and cough before she uttered any profanity.

A dozen questions ran through her mind as she looked around, her hand running down her body to check for the wounds she had received when the door suddenly opened.

“She is doing better,” the Warden heard a woman saying, “do you know when…

_I know that voice!_ “Amice?”

The maid stopped as she had opened the door, head turning before she nearly dropped the rags she was carrying. “You- you’re awake!” Recovering, she hurried over and left the rags on the nightstand as she knelt next to the bed. “Take it slow, my lady, you have been through quite the ordeal!”

“I’m fine!” Joy insisted, holding a hand up. “I can sit up, Amice.”

“As you say, my lady,” the serf conceded, pushing herself back to her feet. “But please, let Sister Noelle treat you!”

_Noelle?_ Joy wondered as she looked past the maid and saw Cross’ retained surgeon had stayed at the door, watching as she was carrying a bowl of water.

“Get the Warden some wine, Amice,” Noelle ordered as she made her way over. “She needs to wet her throat again before speaking.”

“What happened?” Joy asked, leaving it at that as she realized how hoarse she was. She tried to swallow, not that it helped.

“You almost died,” Noelle answered, no sugarcoating as she set the bowl down on the nightstand. “If not for Mercy’s intervention, you would have.”

_Mercy?_ Joy wondered, but before she could process that revelation Amice had grabbed a wineskin from the desk and gave it to her. The Warden raised her right hand, reaching for it. She was sore, but she didn’t need to be fed like a baby! Amice still kept a hand on the wineskin though.

“Much better,” she remarked as the rather sweet wine ran down her throat. Still parched, but she could speak. “Thank you, Amice.”

“Leave it,” Noelle added as Amice started to rise, and the maid let go before she noticed she had left the door open. As she went to deal with that, Joy turned her attention to Noelle.

“How are you feeling, dame?” the nun asked as she pulled a stool that had been left near the bed up and sat in it.

“A headache and sore all over, but alive.”

“Be thankful for that, Warden. You very well may have never woken up.”

“How long was I out?”

“About a week today.”

That put things into perspective, but it also made the memories she remembered from before stand out more vividly. “How did I… wait, what about the miller? Did Orobas get to his family, or did Cross-”

Noelle immediately shushed her. “Later. Right now, it is more important that you know about your injuries.”

Glancing down, the Warden was suddenly very glad that Amice had remembered to close the door. Not that the maid stuck around as Noelle ordered her to go get some food. Then she turning towards the numerous wounds and the details about keeping them clean, and to not stress them as they healed.

The good news was that nothing had been broken, though Joy’s left leg, right arm, and right shoulder had all been too close for comfort. The cuts that she had received, from the blow to the sword arm, the slash across her back from left shoulder to right hip, to the grazing blow that had gone over - but not into - her ribcage. Of course it had been grazing, given it was done by a poleaxe. And as she explained each one, Noelle revealed that none of the blows had been particularly deep. Deep enough to penetrate her armor, but nothing that hacked into her bones.

Then there were the bruises, which had covered her body and had apparently been even worse when she had been carted back to Redflow. At mention of them, Joy ran a hand across her face, feeling both her blackened right eye and the other bruises.

“Will they heal?” Joy asked as she removed her hand from her face.

“Give it another week or two,” the surgeon remarked before giving a rather wiry grin. “Then all your suitors can continue to admire ardently.”

That touch of wit left Joy quiet as she realized just how petty that question had been. She almost died and she was worrying about whether she would still have a pretty face?

Noelle hardly cared for that as she pressed on, though. “Speaking of that, you had a fever when you arrived. Though it has abated, make sure you keep yourself clean. An infection is the last thing you need, even if you will make a full recovery.”

Despite the fact that the doctor’s prognosis was glowing, a chill crept through her body. Perhaps it was the sting of her wounds, or perhaps it was lingering shock of her time unconscious. Or maybe how long she had been unconscious finally hit her.

“You’ve explained the wounds,” the Warden started as she locked her gaze on the surgeon. “Now tell me what happened. The last thing I remember was Orobas’ knights surrounding me.”

“In short?” Noelle answered as she stood. “Lord von Eisleben claimed victory in a trial by combat, but returned to his lands now that Lord Cross was present to keep order.”

“Trial by…” Joy frowned as her gaze was drawn to her gear. “That was no trial by combat.”

“It is now. The miller and his family were condemned, as their champion fell fighting for them. God’s will made manifest,” though as Noelle pointed up with her right hand, her eyes almost rolled.

“But why? I never demanded the right.”

“That was the doing of your savior.”

“Who, Albrecht?”

“No, though he supported Mercy’s argument.”

“Mercy?” Joy blinked as she felt herself grimace. “She was there?”

“Yes, but I would let her speak for herself.” A scowl briefly crossed Noelle’s face, but Joy ignored it as the healer continued. “Lord Cross remains in the area, to decide on the candidates to land so Orobas cannot return so easily.”

“But it was too late, wasn’t it? Orobas made his point.”

A shrug answered the Warden’s question. “Only time will tell. Now, your body was brought back by Dame Sybilla and Sir Albrecht. Sybilla went to visit her brother, though Albrecht has remained here for now. Both visited you a few times, to wish you well.”

Overly dramatic imagery flashed through her mind regarding how her supposedly ardent admirer carried himself, but Joy forced that aside: she was not in the mood. It helped that at this point, Amice returned with the food.

And Joy really needed that, even if she had to eat slowly to make sure her stomach could handle it. And the slow meal was perfect for discussing the details of her recovery. For now it was going to be bedrest, though Noelle did want to see if Joy was able to walk after she finished the food. Joy was able to, though the cut across her back remained painful.

Noelle pounced on that fact even if being able to walk was a good sign: the Warden was going to get bedrest, and to not even consider training.

“But I just slept for a week!” Joy protested when Noelle made her intent clear. “I can take it slow, but…”

“No buts, Warden,” the healer interrupted as she kept her gaze firmly with Joy’s eyes despite looking up. “Just because you can walk does not mean you should.”

“So I should sit around doing nothing?”

“Yes. If you jump around practicing, let alone real fighting, you will tear your back open again.”

That deflated Joy’s resistance and she sat back down in the bed. “Fine,” she conceded, “but I need to get back into fighting shape.”

“You will, but it must be at the pace of your recovery. There are some things you can do now, though…”

XXXXX

Castle life could be incredibly boring, especially when you could not head outside to train, go for a ride, or hunt during some of the last sunny days before winter came. Despite that, Joy still had things to do to pass the time while confined to her room.

The first thing was a letter that had arrived while she was gone, from Stone and sent two weeks ago. It was dated by travel time, of course, but she still read it in hopes that it might take her mind off of what had happened and how she was helpless to do anything about it. But despite her initial hope, it had been a short letter, almost as if Stone was afraid of using too much paper, explicitly forgoing details. Maybe he was just unused to writing such letters, but any thought of writing her own to help him was cut short by the fact that it would have to be about what had happened.

So she moved on to decorating her new set of standards. Her old ones had been heavily damaged in the fight with Orobas’ knights, but while Seneca could salvage them he reckoned it was worth issuing Joy a second set and leaving the old ones for training purposes. He even got her a set with the exact same pattern, it just needed individual heraldry.

And that was what she focused on as the afternoon wore on: this simple task of maintenance that she could often fall back on. It kept her hands busy and Noelle had suggested it for just that reason, but it also left her mind to consider what had happened.

A knock on the door caused her to pause, as the would-be guest spoke through the wooden door. “My lady, is now a good time? It is Sir Albrecht.”

Of course he had shown up. Joy glanced down quickly, though she was wearing her dress so she was more than presentable, or as presentable as she could be with her bruised face. “Amice?” Joy asked. The maid nodded and rose from the stool she was sitting on, giving the Warden a chance to set down the cloth and needles.

The serf opened the door, bowing her head and stepping out of the way as Albrecht entered. He had taken his armor off, wearing an arming doublet (a very dark red decorated with their legion’s orange in a chevron pattern) that bore a few signs of recent travel even with a brief washing. He was still clean shaven as ever, and had brought a small vase with a few flowers, including a rose at the center.

“I thought you might like something for the room,” he said as he briefly dipped his head.

“I…” caught off guard, the Warden looked between his smile and the gift - and what it meant - before she caught herself and held a hand out to take it. “Thank you, good knight, for this gift.”

“Of course.” He handed it over, and Joy placed it on the desk, glancing at the partially-decorated standards for a moment before looking back. Amice was closing the door- “Amice, leave it open.”

The serf bowed her head to answer, stepping away from the door. Albrecht’s smile widened with an amused scoff. “Do you not trust me, dame?”

“Courtship is for the castle commons, sir knight.”

“Alas, if only it could be done there.” He hesitated as he said it, momentarily glancing away as it brought up the obvious topic.

“Amice, could you leave your work on the desk? I think he would like to sit down.”

“Certainly, my lady.” As the maid moved her own sewing from the stool, Joy turned her chair so the two could face each other once the maid’s needlework was out of the way. Albrecht sat down on the stool with a smile, and Amice turned her attention towards grabbing one of the spare goblets to pour him a drink as well as one for the Warden in her own.

“I know we exchanged heated words the last time we spoke,” Albrecht continued as his smile faded. “But I hold no ill will towards you for what you did.”

“Even though I threw you into the mud?” Joy raised an eyebrow at him, though she washed the expression from her face as Amice handed her one of the goblets. “Thank you,” she added as she took it.

“You fulfilled your oaths despite the pain you suffered. How can I be mad at a brave knight for doing such a thing?” he brought his smile back as he took the goblet, taking a quick sip. “I can only hope to have such courage in my battles.”

Their conversation flashed through her mind and the Warden’s gaze narrowed. “Says the man who called it suicide.”

“It was a battle that would kill even the bravest of champions. I did not want you to be one of them.”

That made her pause, her own unease coming back. How close she had been to death. How she had nearly killed others in the legion she served, as the aggressor at that. She looked down at her goblet, staying silent as she was not sure how to respond. It had been hours since Noelle had finished bringing her up to speed, and Joy was still coming to grips with what had happened.

“How many were wounded?” she asked as the silence became conspicuous. It had also been something she forgot to ask earlier.

“Several, and you broke Dame Ansley’s knee, but take heart: none of it is lasting.”

“What?”

“No one died, and other than the broken knee everyone was ready to fight again by the time we left.” Albrecht smiled. “You can rest easy: you did not kill anyone, Joyeuse.”

Despite the fact that it was good news, that it meant there was little cause for a lasting feud, she felt a chill run through her body. Yes, she had wounded them, but what were a few wounds between warriors? Especially in a legion like the Blackstones, with their emphasis on knights as warriors and such. If no one died, they could all move on. An apology and maybe a gift for the broken knee, and it could be swept under the rug.

But that was only counting the knights. What about the miller and his family, damned by making it a trial by combat so it could be swept under the rug? She had not gone in asking for that right, and she was not pulling her strikes. If the other members of Orobas’ retinue had not been attacking her, would Joy have plunged her sword into that woman’s heart?

And as Albreht took a few sips from his goblet in the again-growing silence, she frowned. Another realization had risen up with her thoughts.

“I failed…” she whispered, an unguarded utterance under her breath.

All it took was that mutter, and suddenly the Warden was extremely conscious of everything. She was sitting here in a dress with a young man used to seeing her in armor. Her still bruised face and black eye when he was making a suit for her hand. Her hair, brushed as it was, loosely hanging past her shoulders rather than tied up in a braid. Even Amice’s eyes on the two as the maid stayed quiet in the corner waiting in case she was needed but knowing it was not her place to be part of this conversation.

And, of course, the fact that they were sitting there silently. So she broke it with the first question that came to mind.

“Albrecht,” the Warden asked to cover it up, “have you ever failed? And I mean really failed, not some child’s game or losing a tournament.”

“I can’t say that I have,” he admitted. “Is this your first defeat in battle, my lady?”

“Yes.”

“For what it is worth, it was a valiant defeat, worthy of song and your family name. I can only hope that I could do a fraction of what you did if I find myself against those odds.”

And that was the moment she understood that she really could not talk to him about this. How could she admit that she had wanted to surrender at the end there, when he looked up to her courage? And even if she could, would he be able to understand when he had not tasted failure? Did she even understand?

“If you need time, my lady,” he added, interrupting her thoughts as she was still frowning, “I can step back and give you time.”

“Thank you, that might…” Joy hesitated. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m not sure you can help with this.”

He put on a smile, no teeth showing, trying to reassure. The kind of smile you gave when you knew someone was down and you wanted them to feel better despite that. “I would try, though.”

“Maybe… but not now. I need time, time to think.”

“Of course, take all the time you need, even if I have to return in the meantime.”

She latched onto the change of topic. “How long are you staying, Sir Albrecht?”

“Only a few more days. Lord von Eisleben gave me leave, but not an endless amount. There are still stragglers to clear and patrols to be done.”

“Right, of course. The Vikings are nothing but persistent.”

“That they are,” his smile twitched for a moment. “But perhaps we might consider something else. Do you like poetry, my lady?”

The answer was at the tip of her tongue: ‘and what poem did you have in mind’. Yet she held herself back despite her mouth opening. Did she really want to go into that convention, here, now?

“Yes, but not now,” she answered instead as she rose to her feet, briefly wincing from the pain in her back. “Thank you, for making sure I returned safely and for coming, but this is not the time.”

“Of course,” the other knight rose, leaving his empty goblet on the stool, and bowed his head. “In the meantime, I shall remain an ardent admirer.”

Despite knowing this was proper convention, Joy still had to suppress an urge to tilt her head at hearing it spoken aloud. Despite that, she knew what was expected and bowed her head as well. “Thank you, sir knight, and have a good evening.”

He left, leaving her alone as Amice took that as her cue to return to her duties, in this case by making sure the door was closed as Joy exhaled and set her half-finished wine on the desk where there was room. That had gone much better than she had feared, but it still left her feeling unsatisfied, like there was something missing.

Resting her hand on the desk, she paused as she felt the parchment, and glanced down to realize what it was. Stone’s letter. Smiling despite herself, she sat back down and reread it.

_Joy, I hope you’re doing well. Harrowgate is busy, especially with the promotion. But your mother’s advice about face-to-face visits worked out, or at least got faces to names. I won’t bore you with details on that, but I will write about Edward getting married. Well, he and Calia will after all the negotiations are done. Negotiations that I have to sit in on. Details._  

_Not sure what else to write about, since it all leads to details. If you haven’t written, I hope to hear from you soon. And if you have, well… travel time. Though if you get the chance to visit, Harrowgate would welcome you. Maybe swap stories over an ale or something? Either way, stay safe out there._

_Stone_

Was it trivial matters? Other than a knight and noblewoman preparing for marriage, yes. Was he being lean on details? Yes. Was his offer something that very well might not happen until next year? Quite possibly. But there was something about it. Maybe it was just the utter lack of formality, while Albrecht kept to convention and high society?

_Stone knows,_ she realized as it suddenly hit her. How many times had he failed fighting a losing war, but kept going? There were whole chapters of his life that she had never even considered other than the occasional story like how he had gotten a Raider’s skull glued to his helmet. Of course she hadn’t, living her charmed life…

“My lady?”

Blinking as she was jolted out of her introspection, Joy turned. “Amice? What is it?”

“It is getting late, and given your back Noelle suggested that you not join the others for dinner.”

Glancing out the window, Joy realized that yes, dinner was approaching fast. Then again, was she really ready to join the others? “Alright then. Though, I’ll turn in after dinner, so you can skip lighting the candles tonight.”

“As you wish. If there is nothing else, I should go speak to the cooks.”

Amice left, leaving the Warden to her own thoughts. Maybe she just needed real sleep, rather than being in a coma. Maybe...

XXXXXXX

_To defend the helpless, no matter the danger._

_To uphold her oaths, even if she detested their binding._

_To fight for the peace and welfare of all._

_To tell the truth, even if it means her death._

_To uphold the pride and honor of her station, as a Warden or otherwise._

_To be generous in victory and graceful in defeat._

_To remain courteous and polite to those worthy of it, and to avoid giving undue offense._

_To answer all challenges from equals with honor, never to flee a craven._

_To eschew unfairness, meanness and deceit._

_To be just and even handed in disputes, shunning the iron fist of tyranny._

_Those were her oaths: the oaths of a Warden. The bond she swore as she was knighted by her acceptance into that hallowed order. The vows she made as she received her plate, crafted to reflect the courage she had shown as she faced her trials. The reminder of her duties, even if she forgot the slap across the face she had been given upon knighting. The symbol of her condition and vocation._

_She had faced all this in the dusty halls of time long gone. Amidst the southern reaches of a labyrinth of sand, Anastasis had stood for centuries as the weary refuge of the Wardens. Even as they abandoned other chapter houses by their dwindling numbers, they preserved this sanctuary. When it finally closed, it would be their tomb. Her tomb, in the spirit of her station if not where her bones would rest._

_The young Warden looked about from beneath her helmet as the air was still - so still that the motes of dust bouncing in the light from the high windows seemed frozen. She knew where she was. The crypts she had kept vigil in, the statue she had spent much of her time contemplating as she spent that day and night with her inevitable fate. And just as she had when her vigil ended with the tolling of the bell, it was time for her to rise. To step outside again after her long trial._

_But unlike before, the air was now thick with smoke and blood. All she saw was within a red glow, a cursed castle both besieged and burning. White and teal banners with regal yellow symbols flew from the walls, worn by the men-at-arms defending the castle. It was a desperate struggle, as monstrous marauders masquerading as men were trying to break through to set about their Viking pillage._

_Drawing her longsword, she waded into the battle. She was a Warden, one sworn to a legion at that: she had a job to do._

_Her goal was the burning gate, a ram still hammering against it. Every time the ram hit, a few more Vikings would pour through before the gate shut again. So she pushed towards that gap, cutting through the marauders with her sword as their own blades were little more than smoke against her. Yet she questioned neither of these oddies nor the other Warden fighting alongside her. A Warden clad in black and orange, his Warden’s plate blackened and defaced, yet the cypress engraved upon it shined with its original silver sheen._

_As they pushed towards the gate, the tower above collapsed and all she could do was raise her hand in a futile defense against falling masonry. Nothing hit her, but she felt herself collapsing, landing on her stomach. Sound ceased but for a whine, dust swirled around and blinded her, and she coughed as the dust made it through her visor. All she knew was that she was pinned under her own weight against the ground as the maelstrom of dust surrounded her._

_She started to question what was going on, but before she could really think of the warped reality the maelstrom stopped, as had all sounds of battle. She was no longer even on the battlefield, but face down against dull grey stonework._

_Pushing herself to her feet, she frowned as she recognized where she was. The resting place of so many of her forefathers, entombed not far from where she had been born. Taking her helmet off, closing her eyes until it had already clattered to the floor with a muted echo, she absentmindedly tossed her longsword into her left hand. Holding it by the blade and letting the hilt rest against her grip, she stepped deeper into the crypt, letting her gaze wander across the grim architecture._

_She recognized so many of the faces on the effigies and monumental brasses lit by torches. Ancestors so ancient that little of their deeds were remembered save by the archives kept within dusty scriptoriums. Her grandparents on her father’s side, dead before she had taken her first crying gasps outside her mother’s womb. The memorial for her father, an effigy on half of the tomb’s lid as the other half was reserved until such a time that her mother was reunited with him._

_And, strangely, there was a new brass on the wall nearby. She found herself focusing on that and stepping closer, trying to make sure that she was seeing clearly._

_This brass depicted a young woman with a Warden’s plate over her armor on her left side, the roaring lion barely visible past her hands. Hands that were clasped together in prayer, coming around the pommel of a longsword whose tip ended at her feet. The dame’s hair was braided, laid over her right shoulder so it ran down the front. Her helmet was nowhere to be seen, leaving her closed eyes and solemn expression unobscured._

_That face was so familiar, like she had seen it in reflection time and again. Reaching a hand out-_

_Joyeuse Maylis stopped as she looked through her outstretched hand. Though her translucent body. At that moment, she understood._

_She was staring at her own image._

_Was she looking at what had happened to her? What would happen to her? What was happening to her? This had to be a dream - a nightmare. She couldn’t be dead, she was still in her armor! But if she was dead, why was she here? Was this how she would endure Purgatory? Was her soul cast back into the world to wander without purpose? Was what she saw even real, or an illusion? Was she even real? What was happening to her?!_

_Joy felt herself frantically looking around trying to find someone, anything to clue her in-_

XXXXX

Awaking with a sudden jolt, Joy’s eyes shot open. The suddenness of the shake that woke her up still lingered in her body. No, she did not catapult upright, but she did not need to as she looked around.

She was safe. Dark as the room was, it was because the candles had not even been lit as she turned in with nightfall. And even then she could still make out a few shadows from the clear skies outside. That did not mean she could not feel her heartbeat, or that she was tense as she pushed herself up and looked around, for what little there was to see.

Exhaling, Joy shook her head and turned her thoughts towards what had woken her up. Was it just a nightmare, or was it something more?

“It was just a nightmare,” she muttered to herself as she slid back under the covers. But it did not take long for her to understand that no, she was wrong: it was more than a nightmare. Or rather, it was not alone as her mind dwelled on it. Seeing all that might remain of her memory if she had died in that skirmish. But what was the fight then? Just random filler, and why dream about her vigil in Anastasis as well?

_“... to come to terms with our fate. The inevitable.”_

Why was she now thinking about that months ago conversation with Apollyon?

_“To accept it in the mind is one thing, but to accept it with your entirety? That is something you will only learn…”_

“... when I am truly afraid,” she muttered, finishing Apollyon’s words then.

Pushing the covers back so she could turn over, she reached for the nightstand until she had found both the flint and the candlestick, grabbing both as she turned to lighting it. It lit on the first try, and she picked it up as she walked towards the desk.

When she had a hard time falling asleep, she often turned towards reading. An easy task that could take her mind off of things. And since most of the time she had trouble sleeping it was because something bothered her, it was as good a way to do it as anything else.

Then she got to her mother’s letter, and her nightmare made sense. This was not just about failing to stop Orobas and his retinue of zealots. It was not even about being defeated, that just led to what it was. It was the first time she had nearly died, genuinely helpless and her life at someone else’s mercy. The first time she had been broken, lying in the mud with no one to comfort her in what nearly were her final moments.

She kept reading on, but it was the final piece of advice her mother had given that stood out: _remember that you have to die._

Much as Joy wanted to say that she had always been aware of that fact, she knew now that it was a lie. She had even thought about it before, wondering if she had been too cavalier at moments like saying that going to save Harrowgate was an occupational hazard. Each time though, her thoughts easily moved on with the conversation. Death was not something she had ever really understood, even with how many she had slain. Hers was still an abstract.

“A damn fantasy,” she muttered as she closed her eyes, trying to remember how she had thought of it.

It had been a clear image in her mind, as clear and vivid as the fevered nightmare that woke her up: lying motionless in the grass, slain in valiant combat. The same image she always had when she considered that she might die, yet before now she never thought to question how clean it was. An artistic splash of red on her torso if she ever thought of blood, not the filthy reality she had lived. Was living, as she put a hand to her blackened eye. After all, how many artists would depict such a mildly disfiguring wound if they drew a dame’s death?

Sighing as she leaned back in the chair, Joy wished she could talk to someone. Even Apollyon, much as she did not want to admit to this fear to her master. At least Apollyon might be able to cut through the cloaks hiding the real issue and give her a straight answer.

“Come on, there has to be an answer here, somewhere…” she muttered as she put the letter down, reaching for the next one before stopping herself. No, she had all the pieces she needed. The experience she was now wrestling with. The fear that took her before she had blacked out. But what did it mean?

Then the door rustled, and she had to put it aside again. “Amice?” she asked, but no answer came.

That meant it was not the maid forgetting something when she went home for the night, and that begged the question: who would try to enter unannounced at whatever late hour it was? Her body tensed again as she turned, looking towards her sword. Despite the pain from her wounds, she made her way over and grabbed it. She may not have drawn Dusk yet, but just holding the blade in its scabbard made her acutely aware of how defenseless she was without the time to properly arm herself.

The door opened and the candle barely illuminated the shadow that stepped in. Though there was not enough light to see details, especially as the woman wore a hood, Joy could still make out the reflection of a mask, oddly familiar at that. Then she spoke.

“I am not here to hurt you.”

“Mercy,” Joy growled, though she did not let go of her grip on Dusk. “Why are you here?”

“You want to talk,” she answered without hesitation, closing the door behind her and walking to the desk. “I happened to be in the area.”

“Just like you happened to be near Orobas?” The Warden kept her gaze on the Peacekeeper, even though she appeared unarmed this time without even the belt that had the sheathes for her pair of blades.

The Peacekeeper released the barest hint of a snort as she unceremoniously grabbed the desk’s chair and turned it around. “Assuming the worst, just like Holden.”

Joy stayed silent, wondering what that was about. Had the Lawbringer already confronted Mercy over this? _Does it matter?_ She asked herself as the Peacekeeper set the chair down and sat in it, propping one leg over and across the other.

“To answer your question though, I was trailing Martin. He likes to act as if he is a Lawbringer in matters of faith, carrying himself with the same authority as he tries to root out corruption.”

“Or what he sees as corruption?”

A single nod answered her as the Warden finally set her sword back down with the rest of her gear.

“So why play along with his game?” Joy demanded. “Why make it a trial by combat if he wasn't actually rooting out pagan worshippers?”

“Martin was unhappy that you tried to kill him,” the Peacekeeper said without any hint of gravitas. “He wanted something for it.”

“And you condemned the miller and his family, just like that?”

“Would you prefer to be executed?”

“I-” Joy stopped herself before she went about taking the same cavalier tact she always had. Would she put her head on the block - or worse - to save that miller and his family? It was not like it would be as quick as people always said decapitation was: she would still feel pain, and plenty of it as the steel cut through her neck.

_Deflect to something else,_ she told herself, grasping a vague memory of her mother educating her in rhetoric.

“I attacked a Blackstone Warlord, didn’t I?” And she was not able to stop herself from wincing: it still sounded cavalier.

The Peacekeeper scoffed. “I thought your mother was a diplomat.”

Joy scowled, even if the shadows would mostly hide it.

“But yes,” Mercy continued as she leaned back in the chair, the candlestick behind her still casting its soft glow, “you did throw yourself at a dozen knights and their retainers. All for some nameless peasants.”

“I swore to defend the helpless, no matter the danger. Names shouldn’t matter.”

“Perhaps not. You didn’t even get the name of the woman that told you what happened.”

_Why bring her up-_ Joy thought before something finally connected in her mind. A gap that had been missing. “You sent her, didn’t you?”

“And what if I did?”

“Why hide, then? Why did you stay out of sight as I attacked? Why wait until I was… was…” she trailed off there, not wanting to say the truth. _Waited until I was defeated._

Mercy’s shrug was so slight that it was only really noticeable because of the light the candle cast. “I wanted an answer.”

“To what question?”

“What kind of knight you are.”

Silence reigned in the room as it took a few moments for the Warden to process the remark, to realize what was happening.

“So you orchestrated this whole thing, putting dozens of lives at risk, just so you could _test me_?”

Then Mercy did something that Joy never imagined seeing from a Peacekeeper: she laughed. No, it was not the uproarious laughter of a feast or a snigger in the back corners of a held court, just a short chuckle as the Peacekeeper shook her head. But it was a free chuckle: quiet, but unrestrained.

“This is no joke,” Joy warned as she fixed her glare at the Peacekeeper’s mask.

“Saying I orchestrated it _is_ laughable.” Mercy untangled her legs and pushed herself to her feet as she continued. “Am I the one who sought to embarrass Holden? Perhaps I also talked Martin into accepting a gothi’s tortured confession as gospel? Perhaps I planted the amulet misplaced by refugees, or made sure they stayed at that particular mill in months past?”

“But you made it urgent. You sent the woman.”

“And was I the one who ran in without a second thought, sending my companion to fetch a Lawbringer?”

Joy exhaled: there was no point arguing this further. “Fine, you did not orchestrate it. But you could have stepped in earlier.”

“Knowledge is power, well worth the cost of acquiring.” The Peacekeeper then immediately turned, striding towards the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” Joy asked, wondering just what was going on.

“I have to meet another. Rest peacefully, Warden.”

Mercy left as silently as she came, and while Joy briefly considered going after her despite her state of undress, the Warden hesitated as the door was locked from the outside. The fact that Mercy had one of the keys barely registered in her mind, as she was suddenly focusing on how the other woman had said goodbye. Joy doubted it was just an accident of the tongue.

The Peacekeeper had wanted to see what kind of knight she was. It was a test, but why? What did it show that Westhold, Harrowgate, the road to Tholen-

Suddenly her mind wandered to a lone hill fort again, the conversation there. Her own words to Apollyon: _‘I never actually thought that I would really die’._

And now that she had been truly afraid, what had she learned about herself? What had Mercy learned cleaning the cowardly stains between her legs along with the wounds? That she had been afraid at the last moment? She knew what she had wanted: to give up, to yield and be spared. Was it just some desperate hope of the body, or was it some part of her that even the trials in Anastasis failed to reveal?

Despite these questions, all she could do was sleep on it, and hope that she might have a better answer with time.

XXXXXX

Mercy’s journey through Holden’s’ castle was slow thanks to her attempt to remain inconspicuous. It was not that she was afraid of the guards - even if she had slipped past them to speak to the Warden - but she wanted to remain discrete, especially given who she was meeting. It was bad spycraft to reveal your order’s agent in a castle, and Mercy had her pride to consider.

It was a common mistake for people to assume that Peacekeepers were limited to the likes of her. Assassins dressed in a specific way, their battle gear, lurking in the shadows of courts to overhear whispers and steal documents to copy before returning them. Such was a naive view of espionage, one that Mercy could never understand the appeal of. Why go through such effort when you could just become part of the court the normal way and be trusted with such information?

And that was what most of her order did. They all had martial training and could fight if the need arose, but the majority of them did not operate as she did. Rare as a Peacekeeper’s presence appeared to be, in truth almost everyone had met one. They just had no idea, because they kept thinking of the likes of her. Those knighted by joining a legion or other service, not that they particularly cared for such titles. Still, it was a useful deception, and one that could withstand revelation to boot.

Opening the door to the contact she had to talk to, Mercy was immediately assaulted by the smells of oils, herbs, ointments, and something being distilled. And once again, she wondered if Holden had questioned how he was able to so easily recruit a nun with a surgeon’s skill for his retinue. Apollyon had figured out why an assassin like her had been made available to the Blackstone Legion, surely a Lawbringer would ferret out a mole?

“You took your time,” her contact said despite her back being turned as she was grabbing a phial.

Mercy smirked beneath her helmet despite herself as she fished the key for Joy’s room from her sleeve. “And I thought you had said the Warden went to sleep early, Sister Noelle. She was reading letters.”

The other woman briefly turned, eyes narrowing as she was at her workbench. Noelle’s quarters had her workbench and cauldron for brewing various remedies, a dining table to eat, and of course a larger table for both patients and a general workspace.

“She may be having trouble sleeping, then. One more injury you left her.”

“Some information requires risk,” Mercy remarked as she set the key on the dining table and sat down, pushing her hood back and starting to remove her helmet.

Noelle exhaled as she started emptying the distiller into the phial. “You are playing a dangerous game, Sister. I do not approve of such reckless tests, nor do our superiors. Even if Apollyon might.”

“Exactly. You should have seen how excited Apollyon was to hear of the Warden’s attack.”

“And what did you tell her?”

Mercy finished removing her helmet, setting it on the table as she let her short (and messy) hair fall loosely to her shoulders. “That the Warden fulfilled her oaths.”

Noelle said nothing in response, emptying the distiller’s contents into the phial, then plugged it with a cork and turned to dousing the flame. All that gave Mercy’s mind time to wander now that she did not need to be alert.

Yes, she had risked one potential asset against a likely obstacle, but it served her overall mission and gave them knowledge, with more to come. It would take time for the full ramifications to be understood, but patience was one virtue that Mercy had in abundance. And Apollyon would not even need to be told of this silent encounter, though Mercy planning on at least confirming what she had remarked about previously.

_So, the pinnacle of knighthood is scared,_ she considered as she poured herself a drink. It was such a strange thought, for a heroine to be afraid even though she was safe and sound. Hardly befit a Warden’s station… but, perhaps, fit for a young noblewoman. Fit for someone who could feel for peasants she never even knew the names of nor asked for. Or had she?

As Noelle sat down across from her and the two discussed other matters of their order’s interests, that thought stayed with Mercy. Would the Warden remember them, to mourn for those she had failed to save, or would they just be an accessory to a near-death experience?

It was a deflating thought to have, especially as the Peacekeeper realized that she had never even considered to get their names either.

XXXXXX

“Finally! Maybe this time we can actually settle in for the winter.”

Holden turned his head as Rufus spoke up. “We go where duty calls, ranger.”

“I-” he caught himself. “Of course, my lord. I didn't mean to suggest that we ignore it.”

“I know,” he smiled, then urged his horse on to lead the retinue back to the castle.

It had been almost two weeks since the skirmish, but he had finally sorted affairs out. Ultimately, he had a list of selected candidates and all he had to do now was formally land them. Until then, Sir Leon stayed with his contingent to check any patrols, especially as he had landed the captain with one of the hamlets. Yes, the knight was happy to serve in retinue, but he would still be a captain, he just might recruit a new contingent.

_Maybe Richard can step up, since he’s been made a Conqueror,_ the Lawbringer considered with a faint grin. That had been a news when they first returned to Redflow, particularly for the Warden as it was because of the beating she gave the legionnaire that he had even received Apollyon’s attention. The two had made their peace, even with fate always conspiring to delay it, but had kept their distance as the newly elevated knight had stayed home until called up.

And that brought his thoughts back down. He had met Albrecht on the road as the young man was due to return, and from him had learned that Joy had woken up and was on the way to recovering. Which meant that he had to address her skirmish with Orobas, again running into a poorly chosen fight, and this time she did not have Apollyon to save her.

_But is it really her fault that Orobas was doing what he was?_

Gritting his teeth, the Lawbringer knew that. And, really, how could he chide her for this when it was deeds like this that his order recruited from? That had been what kept gnawing at him over the past few days, even with what had come out of it. He felt like he needed to reprimand her for it, but how could he without being an utter hypocrite?

Still, he considered what he would say in a vacuum. Albrecht said that she was bothered by what had happened, but was vague on details. He was going to have to figure out what he was going to do about this when he finally got back home. Which, at mid morning, he finally did.

His party was naturally spotted by the sentries, who recognized the banner and started to ring the bells. The castle’s inhabitants knew that their lord had returned, and hastened to prepare for it. By the time the Lawbringer was riding across the drawbridge to the salutes of his guards, the castle’s court had gathered in the courtyard.

Sir Dicun was at the fore, bowing as he dismounted and one of the stable hands took the horse’s reins. “My lord, it is good to see you returned safe and sound.”

“And it is good to see you, Dicun,” Holden answered as he put a hand on the former Conqueror’s shoulder. “Any trouble while I was away?”

“Affairs were quiet in your absence, though there are a few petitions you should hear.”

“Later,” he said as his gaze turned towards the Warden, who looked like she had hastily put her gambeson on when word of his arrival came. “I need to speak with my second.”

“Of course, sir.”

After disentangling from the rest of the court and handing his poleaxe off to one of the servants to be delivered to his quarters, the Lawbringer led the Warden to the castle wall. It would at least give them a modicum of privacy for the conversation, as the walls usually only had the guards on patrol.

But as they climbed the stairwell of one of the square towers to reach it, the silence was deafening even the clanking of the Lawbringer’s plate and raised visor. She said nothing; was she afraid of another reprimand?

_There’s only one way to find out,_ he decided as they stepped back out into the open air.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he took his helmet off.

“Better,” she answered as she looked towards him. And she was: the bruising was almost gone and the black eye had healed entirely. “Noelle insists that I avoid training, but I managed to talk her into letting me use this.”

Joy held out the wooden hilt from a waster that she was talking about, and the Lawbringer smiled. “She only let you use that for the motions because she knows you would disobey her otherwise.”

“Maybe,” the Warden shrugged as she looked away. “Still, it will be another fortnight before I’m anywhere near fit to fight again.”

“Then take the time you need to heal, it will do none of us any good if you tear your back open again. Those lacerations are not to be scoffed at.”

“I know,” she admitted before looking past the walls and taking a deep breath. “If you are going to shout, my lord, go ahead. I know I earned it.”

“No, you have _not_. My anger is for another.” When he closed his eyes, too often he pictured Martin’s smug grin, begging for a poleaxe to be dropped onto it.

“But I ran headlong into his trap. I failed, I let him get away with it. I gave him the perfect excuse to damn the miller and his family.”

“I hear a lot about your part, but none about the madman himself.”

Joy frowned as the remark washed over her. “My lord?”

“Joyeuse, if you were not a Warden already that would have seen you asked to train with the Lawbringers.”

“I… I don’t think I would be worthy of that.”

That gave the commander pause as he saw her look away. When did she gain this humility?

_She also nearly died,_ the trained investigator in him noted. That could change anyone. And that meant it was time to take a different tact.

“It would be your choice in the end,” he continued with a shrug. “But you stood against an obvious injustice. I would be a hypocrite to reprimand you for that.”

“Not even to say I should have invoked trial by combat from the start?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted as that had been something he had wondered himself. “But you are from lands that are not so free with invoking such.”

They fell silent again, the Warden looking away. At this point, Holden noticed that her expression had changed since before. Whereas before the skirmish she seemed to have a bit of a spring, now her shoulders stayed sagged even without the weight of her pauldrons and her expression seemed… blank.

_Something is bothering her, something from the defeat. The question is how to find out what it is._ He also knew that directly asking was going to get him the brush off, so he had to work around it. Holden was never particularly fond of such intrigue, but it was a poor investigator that could not work that into his interrogation.

_But it’s not an interrogation,_ he cautioned himself, before turning his head back to look at her. “I met Karl’s son on the road. I imagine his suit went on regardless of a few bruises.”

“Yes, well…” the Warden started as she seemed jolted by the sudden change of topic. “He is persistent.”

“Perhaps the question you should ask is why.”

“Are you saying he has an ulterior motive?”

Holden had a firm answer, and for a moment he weighed sharing before deciding it was worth the risk. “Albrecht? Maybe not, but his father? This would not be the first time Karl sought to better his station with a marriage. He is keenly aware of how many see his claim of being the founder of a dynasty.”

“New nobility, just wearing an old name,” the Warden shook her head. “He certainly dresses the part.”

That drew a chuckle from the Lawbringer as he leaned against the battlement. “He used to be far worse. You should have seen the hats he used to wear.”

And that drew a short laugh from the Warden: she knew exactly what he was talking about. And probably other things that the Lawbringer had missed from whatever fashion trend the more peaceful lands south and west of Ashfeld had. That mirth was what he wanted, and she needed.

“I can imagine,” she finally said as she sobered up. “But you had a point in there, didn’t you?”

“A point Apollyon probably already made after the tournament. Don’t say if she did,” he added quickly. “You’re not the first young knight she’s mentored, nor will you be the last.”

“She enjoys teaching, but is she always so cynical?”

“Yes, she is,” Holden could feel himself grimacing as his own doubts bubbled up in his mind. “Sometimes I think she is too irreverent of society, but she breaks it down to reach deeper. To find the person within..."

_‘Bluntly? You lack all ambition.’_

_‘And yet I am your second. Why?’_

_‘Because you have endless talent, perfect for where you are now… Asmodai.’_

“My lord?”

Blinking, Holden shook his head. Did he really just blank out for a moment? “Huh? Oh,” he turned as he saw Joy frowning as she was looking at him. “Sorry, my mind wandered.” Was he finally showing his age?

Joy spoke up before he could consider that further. “I understand. I have been thinking about too much lately, cooped up inside.”

_And there’s the opening,_ he decided as the two glanced towards the upper windows of the keep. “Being bedridden is never a fun experience, even if you need it to heal. I’ve had my share of it.”

“So how do you move on?”

“Doing something, whether useful or something different,” he answered as he realized this was one issue she had: no coping mechanism for being out of action. “If I can’t fight, I can still plan or advise. I read up on past judgments, or maybe try my hand at engraving.”

“Really? You do that?”

“I used to,” he shrugged. “I was never any good at it. You do embroidering, don’t you?”

“Yes. But…” she hesitated a moment. “Well, I will need to decide on what I do after the dress.”

“It sounds to me like you have something, then.”

“Maybe. It’s just, well… it’s different.”

And Holden knew this was the moment of truth: was she willing to really open up with what was bothering her?

“A way to cope with almost dying?” he asked. Even though he had meant to get to the point, he still felt a twinge at how bluntly he had put it.

“A reminder, I hope.”

“If it will help you move on, do it.” He glanced down at his helmet, turning it to look at the faceplate, and the scratched decorations, before continuing. “Everyone grips with their mortality differently. Some fear it and wish to hide, others find comfort in faith, and some simply embrace it.”

“And how did you accept it?”

He looked up, and met her gaze as the Warden delivered her question. A very apt question, and one she needed to ask. _Do I have an answer for her?_ Holden wondered, before writing it off as irrelevant.

“I accepted it as a risk of my vocation, but what works for me may not work for you.”

Holden watched as she exhaled, looking away. It was not the answer she was hoping for, but it told him what he needed to learn. Joy was shaken by the intimate lesson on her own mortality, and she was still wrestling with it. Such a thing took time, and like her physical injuries this was not something that could be rushed. It was time to let the matter lie.

“I need to get back to my duties,” the Lawbringer finally said as he put a hand on her shoulder. “Keep following Noelle’s instructions. I know it chafes, but you will only make it worse by rushing.”

“I know, my lord.”

“Good,” he responded as he let go and stepped past, then halted at the door frame. “And if you want to speak in confidence, like now, you can always ask.”

Joy acknowledged it with a simple bow of her head, and he returned it before making his way down the tower to the courtyard, back to his seat of power.

But making his way down, Holden felt a stirring in the back of his mind. The part of him that often questioned Apollyon’s laws of selection or the arbitrary decisions she made by that. This was exactly what his old comrade wanted, what she sought to find in those who had earned her attention. The moments that revealed who someone was, whether they were a sheep or a wolf.

_And you know she will push further,_ the same part of him warned. _This was just the start of the test. She will push Joy to the breaking point, like a shark to blood._

He grimaced as the thought lingered. While it might help her face her fear, did he really want to sit back as Apollyon broke youthful ideals once more with cynical philosophy? No, but it was not his place to intervene either to stop Apollyon or to force his own conclusion. He could do as he had offered already and keep an eye on her, but in the end she would have to face it at the pace her life gave.

Then again, Apollyon’s lessons almost always strengthened the warriors who learned them. Just what Ashfeld needed, right? Stronger knights, stronger legionnaires, a stronger realm. One strong enough to keep the Vikings at bay and whatever other threats came. She was a harsh teacher, but so were most Lawbringers to those they would induct into their ranks.

Holden kept that thought close. No, Apollyon’s ways did not create the most stable of rules, but it was a strong rule. His order could mold stability from that strength, however strange it was or whatever rebellions might rise against it. That was his part, his role in the legion: to minimize the chaos made by men like Martin lest it wash away all the good the legion was doing. And he would continue that duty, no matter his master’s ways of doing things.

_Maybe it is high time I dealt with Martin,_ he briefly considered as he returned to his throne room, but as he spoke with Geofrey and Dicun to catch up on matters he had missed and he brought them to speed on his decisions, he put it aside. It was a rivalry, but a civil war was the last thing he wanted to start. If the prideful warlord stepped out of line again, he would strike, but in the meantime there were other matters to tend to.

XXXXX

Another week passed, and in it the first snow came to Ashfeld. That meant a mad scramble to make sure all the winter stores were ready and stocked. That kept everyone busy, and Joy found herself helping with the clerical work. Though she had regretted volunteering after she had done so at breakfast when Geofrey brought up being short handed due to one of his assistants being ill, soon enough she found it a welcome distraction. It was enough to keep her mind busy, especially after Cross told her to make the judgment calls when issues arose.

After some trepidation from her own inexperience, Joy took to the role. None of the calls she had to make were any bigger than whether to store more of a manor’s food at Redflow or locally, but that was fine. It was a call that had to be made but was a safe one. After all, those manors would still get the same rations, it was a question of whether food would be shipped back now or later. Banal as it was, it was the distraction she needed.

“So, how does it feel to be the Warden of the desk?”

Joy tilted her head as Sybilla made the remark. “Are you teasing me, or just trying to break the ice?”

Chuckling, the other woman shook her head. It was late in the afternoon and the two were on the balcony connected to the common room on the keep’s second floor. They had finished early that day, and Joy took the chance to talk with a peer. Both of them had their cloaks on, even if it had warmed up since the first snowfall. It was the fresh air, really.

“A bit of both,” the lancer admitted with a faint smile, “but I think it was a good thing. You seem happier, at least.”

“My wounds no longer sting, and I learned a few things.”

“Useful things, or trivia?”

Joy managed a grin. “It depends on whether I settle down or not.”

“Speaking of that,” Sybilla continued as she rested her hand on the balcony, “What would you think of me and Sir Lancel? Waycrest, that is.”

“You are never going to let that go, are you?” Shaking her head, the Warden suddenly stopped as she realized the real question. “Wait, you _two_? You’re thinking of marrying him?”

“Why not? I’m almost twenty-two, Joy, I should have already married.”

_Really?_ She shook her head as she answered. “The Warborn will be coming back.”

“So? This is the Blackstone Legion, we don’t do the crucifix clutching here.”

“I know, but…” Joy brushed her hand from her stomach to her waist. “Refitting your armor would be the least of your worries.”

Sybilla chuckled. “Do you really think a pregnant knight is going to ride into battle?”

“Wasn’t Vorena pregnant when we attacked Tholen?”

“It was very early, it’s not like she was in labor.”

Joy had to concede that point. It had been a surprise to learn after Cross had stood the contingent down, but Joy had written it off as just not knowing until after the fact. Still, she did not want to go down that line of thought, so she focused on the original topic.

“Back to the original question. If you want to marry him, do it, I don’t know him enough to vouch or warn against him.”

“Fair enough, though he-” she stopped as she glanced to the side.

Joy followed the look as the conversation was interrupted by a knock on the open door separating the common room from the balcony.

“Amice, is something wrong?” the Warden asked as she saw who had interrupted.

The maid bowed her head. “Dames, Lord Cross asked me to tell you that you are needed in the war room. A message from Apollyon just arrived.”

Joy frowned, but thanked her and the two made their way back inside, deeper into the fortress.

The castle’s war room was also on the second floor, towards the back of the fortress. It was lit by two (presently open) windows, plus torches when it was too dark for that. The center of the room was dominated by the circular war table, seats around it so everyone could see the map of Ashfeld. Sir Frederick was already there, laying out pieces on the map for the meeting. After the usual pleasantries, particularly as the others filed in too soon to really settle into it, Cross gave the briefing.

“I apologize for the short notice,” the Lawbringer started as he rested a hand on the letter he had received, “but this was a sudden event. For those of you who are unaware, or simply forgot from other matters, over a month ago my order informed me of a Lord Thomas Easthart beginning to gather support to create a new legion on Ashfeld’s southern border.”

A few murmurs, but Joy knew the name sounded familiar - _I was there,_ she realized as she suddenly remembered Cross bringing the matter to Apollyon’s attention. It also meant she knew where this was going as her commander continued.

“Our master let the matter lay, as he was not a threat then. Now he is raising his flag in rebellion, declaring that his new legion will not recognize the Blackstone Legion’s supremacy in Ashfeld, over his lands within the realm. He has made a declaration to such an intent,” he added as he picked up a second letter that had come with the first and passed it to his right, to Joy. “Read his words for yourself.”

Joy scanned through it quickly, much of it was typical rhetoric of an upstart seeking to justify themselves. In this case, calling on the Blackstone Legion’s lack of history and newness against the venerable epoch of the Iron Legion, raising questions about the demon names…

_‘... and now we hear that one infernal warlord needed a dozen knights to defeat one Warden! A Warden of the Blackstone Legion, struck down for protecting Ashfeld’s people!’_

Her blood chilled as she read that part of the declaration. One more consequence of her rash attack. Maybe she was not to blame for his opportunism, but it stung all the same.

“And we march on him?” Sir Frederick asked as he folded his arms as Joy finished scanning through the declaration.

“We are. I am to bring a hundred men and specialists, while Apollyon marches her own force. We will be joined by Lords Rottdal and Stone to sweep this so-called Ascendant Legion from the field, and lay siege if needed.”

Joy froze as she was handing the letter to Sybilla. “Lay siege?”

“If a show of force fails, or they hunker down, it is our only option,” the Lawbringer exhaled as the entire war room fell silent. They all knew the issues of a winter siege. All the trouble of a siege, but with far less available to forage and the cold itself would kill and maim their men.

At the same time, the young Warden understood why they had to strike now: the Blackstone Legion, and by extension Apollyon, were new to ruling Ashfeld as they now were. It was an untested rule, one that also came by displacing centuries of tradition. It would not take much to sap their legitimacy, especially if they let this Ascendant Legion make such a declaration unmolested. The Blackstone Legion had to act, to be seen acting, and to bring them to heel one way or another.

“Who are you bringing, my lord?” Joy asked, breaking the silence as the others were reflective.

“Dame Vorena’s contingent is available and fully replenished, and has not been called up recently.”

“Sir Heinrich will captain, then?” Frederick asked.

The Lawbringer nodded. “Unless the two decide otherwise. We will also be bringing Yarwick’s engineers, to assist with the siege and travel.”

“What about additional knights?”

“You are coming too, Warden,” Cross remarked as he turned his head to answer her question. “Our master wants you, specifically.”

That sent a chill down her spine as she answered. “Very well, but Sister Noelle…”

“... is coming with us. If your wounds have not healed by the time we arrive, you can assist her and the medics.”

“My lord,” she answered as she bowed her head. No, she was not going to be avoiding this round of fighting and dying for politics. Something she had spent two years of her life doing as she made her way to Ashfeld, and now it seemed it was something she would never escape so long as she was a knight actively serving her legion. A part of knighthood.

_Which is what I want, isn’t it?_ A question that lingered in Joy’s mind as they settled into discussing the logistics of what would become a winter march and making their preparations.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say on this that has not already been written in the chapter, other than I hope that it was well worth the read. The fallout is not done, but these were conversations that were needed to happen for the involved characters and immediately. Maybe not Mercy's extra bit, but I think I finally figured out what I wanted to do with her.


	17. Chapter 17

The trip south was surprisingly swift, particularly as this time they did not need to stop and clear out Warborn positions along the way. The journey let Joyeuse see again the lands she had fought through months before, now with layers of frost as winter’s icy fingers were taking their grip even against the heat of the volcano. It took a fortnight, but soon enough they reached the rendezvous point where they would meet up with the other forces summoned to deal with the upstart Ascendant Legion.  
  
It was a valley a two-and-a-half day march south of Harrowgate, at the southern end of a region the locals called the Fireshelf because the many ridges were dotted with sinkholes. In turn, this meant there were often holes where elsewhere there would be a solid rockface, just waiting to consume a careless climber. It also kept the air rather warm even if the bite of winter could still be felt and snow still stuck to the ground.  
  
As they entered the camp that had been established within the valley, where Apollyon had pitched camp to collect the troops that would be used to break this rebellion, it was clear that the cold was already starting to have its effect. Legionnaires were wrapped in thick cloaks on duty, and when not on watch many stuck to their tents or stayed near campfires if they were going to be outside. Many poked their heads out as word travelled through the camp of the reinforcements, but few came out to greet them.  
  
Not that there was much time for it, as Cross gave both Sir Heinrich and Yarwick instructions to see the contingent quartered and supplies added to the army’s stores, then went to the command tent. Joy accompanied him, and as they walked through the camp she could not help but feel worried. She was going to meet Apollyon again, this time after having been beaten decisively attacking one of her trusted commanders.  
  
The only way to find out was going to be to plunge in, and as the two black-clad knights outside the command tent, now carrying shields to go with their swords, acknowledged them without a word and let them pass.  
  
“Ah, Holden.” Apollyon started as she looked up from the table. “Any trouble on the road?”  
  
“No, master,” the Lawbringer bowed his head briefly, then took his place opposite of her around the short table.  
  
Joy took her place to his right, glancing at the others present. Mercy was waiting silently behind Apollyon, while Lord Rottdal and one of his knights stood to the warmaster’s right. Opposite of the envious warlord was the other Conqueror in the room with a familiar skull glued to his helmet. Stone, and Sir Edward was still acting as his second.  
  
“Let’s skip the formalities then,” Apollyon remarked as she leaned both her hands against the table. “You brought your contingent?”  
  
“One hundred men captained by Sir Heinrich, Yarwick and his engineers, a few other knights, and the camp followers supporting that.”  
  
“Sir Heinrich?” Karl asked, tilting his head towards the Lawbringer. “I didn’t know he was one of your captains.”  
  
“Dame Vorena is expecting, so he has the command,” Cross explained with a faint shrug.  
  
“Such is life,” Apollyon said as she looked down at the map, nodding once. “Good. Twelve hundred men should be more than enough for this campaign.”  
  
“Assuming we don’t take many losses,” Stone remarked as he looked at the pieces representing the potential Ascendant Legion. “Lord Easthart had about five hundred men-at-arms between his own garrison and vassals before this, plus that again in levies from his lands and vassals.”  
  
Joy knew those were tight odds - Cross had attacked Westhold with a force this size, but Daubeny only had three hundred men at the time, and many of those were freshly trained levies and militia. Of course, Westhold was also battered down by a decade of changing hands - she doubted Stonerust was similarly weakened.  
  
“Numbers never tell the whole story,” Karl noted as he folded his arms. “Regardless, Lord Easthart is usually not this ambitious. Didn’t he let the Iron Legion recruit in his lands without paying commissions, Lord Stone?”  
  
The Conqueror shook his head. “He did, but he made us ask for permission before we did a round. He stayed out of the war, and was always touchy about his independence. He won’t give up Stonerust Castle without a fight.”  
  
He pointed to the castle marked on the map, about a half day’s march south from their position. “Speaking of Stonerust, it guards a river crossing but is not built _on_ the crossing itself, so we might be able to use that to our advantage in a siege.”  
  
“Which we want to avoid,” Cross growled as he rested his poleaxe against his left shoulder. “How strong is the castle itself?”  
  
“It’s not on a hill or anything, but it’s not weak. He also knows we’re coming, so if he’s smart he’s built up his stores.”  
  
“Stores or no, we will deal with him,” Apollyon waved her hand. “Tomorrow we will either sweep him from the field or trap him in his home.”  
  
Joy glanced at the map again and the relative parity of forces, wondering if that would be the case as they then broke down into the minutiae of command. They had twelve hundred warriors, split between the hundred from Cross, five hundred from Belial’s garrisons, and three hundred from Stone and Apollyon’s commands each. The bulk of it was infantry or knights that would dismount to fight on foot, but two hundred of the troops - a mix from all four contingents - were dedicated cavalry.  
  
Command of the cavalry fell to Karl, since his request to lead the vanguard was denied as that was Cross’ duty. Stone would have the command of the reserves made up entirely of his former Iron Legionnaires, while Apollyon led the bulk of the army herself. Which left them to the next issue, the exact battle plan, but Apollyon cut that short by saying she had already laid a plan and she would handle that. Despite none of her commanders liking it, they accepted as the meeting was ended for lunch.  
  
“Warden,” Apollyon said after dismissing the others, “Stay behind, we will talk now.”  
  
Stone glanced at her briefly, but said nothing other than bowing his head towards his master like the others and leaving the tent. Everyone else left, Cross the last one out as he took one glance back before leaving.  
  
The tent’s flaps fell closed behind the Lawbringer, and Apollyon simply stood there, staring through her skull-like mask before she broke the silence confident none were eavesdropping.  
  
“So, you have faced the prospect of dying.”  
  
_Straight to the point then,_ Joy decided. “You know about what happened, then.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“And Mercy told you everything?”  
  
“She did.”  
  
The young Warden nodded once, mostly to herself as she was bracing for whatever Apollyon felt was necessary to address the infighting in her legion. “I stand by what I did: Orobas was out of line.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Apollyon admitted as she rested a hand on the pommel of her longsword, “but the matter is resolved. The only thing to do is move forward.”  
  
Joy glanced down at the map, then back to her master. “You once asked me if I ever really thought I was going to die, when I went into Harrowgate.”  
  
“And you said you knew, but did not believe it.” Apollyon rested a hand against the table. “Do you believe it now?”  
  
“The past, no, I know what happens,” the young knight admitted as her gaze fell to the markers of the next castle. “But I can’t predict what I will do.”  
  
“Really? Faced with next year’s Viking horde, would you hold the line knowing you would die, or retreat and live, letting them rape the dirt farmers now unprotected?”  
  
“I…” Joy hesitated as she knew she could not just say that she would, even though being a Warden meant that it was her duty - no, her honor - to stand her ground. “I can’t know,” she finally said. “Not until I am there, facing the horde. I can say I would be brave all I want, but I thought I would be brave if I fell in battle.”  
  
“You are afraid of dying.”  
  
Glancing up briefly to only find Apollyon’s stare focused on her, all Joy could do was look down again. “Yes, I am.”  
  
“Are you ashamed about your fear, Joyeuse? That in defeat, you are not so different from the common fighter?”  
  
Joy bristled at the implication as she looked back up. “This isn’t a matter of birth, master.”  
  
“Then why is it wrong for you to be afraid?”  
  
“I am a Warden, the pinnacle of knighthood. Others must be able to look to me when things are darkest and be inspired, not shocked to find out that I pissed myself.”  
  
Apollyon snorted. “If you died, how could they tell?”  
  
A shrug was the Warden’s answer as she considered that less-than-polite truth. “Yes, but how can I ask others to charge forward without fear when I am afraid?”  
  
“I thought you had the coddled upbringing that made sure you were ready for the hypocrisy of noble life?”  
  
“This, again?” Joy exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “No, I won’t take the bait arguing over the natural order. This is about fear.”  
  
“Perhaps the fear of addressing the truth?” The warlord shrugged her shoulders. “But no matter, we can argue the supposed valor of gentle birth another time.”  
  
“Master, we both know you do not believe that nonsense called democracy any more than petty kings do.”  
  
A chuckle answered her remark. “The rare time I would agree with the so-called nobility, but you are correct. Will you face your fear?”  
  
“That’s the problem, I cannot know until I face it.”  
  
“And do you want to face it?”  
  
Joy hesitated, not answering as that month had also given her time to consider the alternative.  
  
“I see. Until you have an answer to whether you truly want this life or not, we have nothing more to say.”  
  
“Yes, master,” Joy said as she knew she was being dismissed. She bowed her head, and then left as Apollyon waved her hand towards the exit.  
  
As always, Apollyon had found a way to hit the real question. Joy knew that there was every chance that what happened had broken her, or revealed something she could not have known. And the thought of, deep down, being a coward unworthy of her title was not something she wanted to deal with.  
  
_But if I’m not willing to die fighting, can I call myself a Warden?_ That was the question that lingered as she left the tent before she decided that it was a question she could not answer. She needed to know for sure, rather than fret and worry about something that might not be there. Surely the trials to become a Warden would have revealed that, right?  
  
As her stomach growled and she felt the cold chill in the air, she put the thought aside - she already fretted for a month. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would finally get the answer she needed… even if it was not the answer she wanted.  
  
Apollyon was right: she would learn in battle.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
Lunch that day was warm stew fresh from the pot, though that would not last in the chill air even if they ate in one of the tents. That kept most of them busy as none of them had a particular desire for a cold meal - the winter air was already cold enough. But that came to an end, and with it the end of excuses for a matter to be held off.  
  
“Joy, how are you feeling?”  
  
Glancing to her left as Stone sat down next to her, she managed a weak smile. “As well as I can be, considering what we are about to do.”  
  
“Nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”  
  
“Does that mean we should just shrug it off, though?”  
  
The Conqueror paused as he considered her answer, glancing to the side briefly before he shrugged. “No, but can we really do anything about it? Either we attack or we lay siege, we don’t get a say.”  
  
“No, we don’t,” she admitted as she shook her head. “It probably sounds petty that a Royal is questioning this, isn’t it?”  
  
“Not really, I’ve asked that too many times.” He shrugged. “If weren’t for evil men, there’d be no need for heroes able to stop them, would there?”  
  
That got a chuckle out of the young Warden, short as it was before another thought sobered her up. “True. But were they born evil, or was it stories of Valhalla that twisted them?”  
  
“Eh, Vikings might be people, but they chose to kill their way across Ashfeld.”  
  
Joy remained silent as she considered the point. She even had a perfect example to look to: the Valkyrie that had commanded the attack on Harrowgate and the Warlord, Sven, that helped her and led survivors to Savona to fight again. They were kin, cousins, and she had met the Warlord and spoke to him at length after the fact. But those two had still orchestrated a campaign to pillage Ashfeld after breaking one of its largest bastions.  
  
“They did,” she decided, exhaling. “And if we hesitate because they have family, what will they do afterwards?”  
  
The Conqueror nodded, glancing down and nudging a stray stick back into the campfire they were near. “Nothing good. Look, are you really okay?”  
  
“I am, I just have a new perspective,” she waved her hand, she needed a distraction. “Anyways, I got your letter.”  
  
“Oh, uh, that’s good.” Stone glanced side to side at the sudden change of conversation, though no one had walked into that section of camp who wasn’t already lingering. “I thought the courier got lost or something.”  
  
“No, it just arrived late. By the time I read it, well…” she trailed off as the topic went back to what she was trying to stay away from.  
  
Stone took the hint though and shrugged. “Eh, doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re here now, so maybe you could explain something to me.”  
  
“Why the nuptial negotiations are taking too long?”  
  
“Nah, David already explained all the concerns of dynasty and inheritance,” the lowborn lord shuddered briefly. “I was thinking more about the Ascendant Legion’s end goal, to be independent _de jure_. I mean, Easthart recognized the Blackstone Legion previously, now he’s saying the Ascendants won’t recognize it?”  
  
“Oh, that.” Joy exhaled, knowing how quickly this could balloon into a very hard to explain topic without having to go into countless exceptions, unique circumstances, and context dependence that made it near impossible to set universal guidelines. _Well, I wanted a distraction,_ she mused. She still seized it even as the realization felt taunting.  
  
“It’s a ploy used by Royals, to resist losing their sovereignty when a greater title is crowned above them.”  
  
“I… bwuh?” The Conqueror stared at her as his mouth hung open.  
  
“This needs an example,” she continued as she could not blame him at all for the confusion. “Let’s say that both of us are sovereign counts. Both commanding a legion, leading our vassals, so on and so forth. But you have been busy expanding your territory, while my attention was inwards.”  
  
“Doesn’t really sound like either of us, really.”  
  
She scoffed. “Hush, it’s an example. Anyways, at this point let’s say that you have taken enough of the subordinate titles to recreate a duchy that had been broken a century ago, becoming the new duke.”  
  
“So I basically just take some old has-been title and make it my own, ‘cause I have a huge tracts of land now.” The Conqueror shook his head. “Assuming I’m still, well, me.”  
  
“That is the most common way to do it, as restoring ancient splendor has much more gravitas.”  
  
“Seems more like mugging the past for legitimacy, but that’s beside the point.” he scratched his chin briefly. “So, becoming the new duke doesn’t actually give me the rest of it, right?”  
  
“No, sovereignty is not so easily stripped from another royal. One of your first goals after being crowned would be to take the rest, to get the fealty of lords like myself.”  
  
“Otherwise it just makes the title empty?”  
  
“Exactly,” she smiled: he understood. “Half the realm is an unstable one, and soon people will ask why you have not brought the rest of your royal title into your sovereign realm.”  
  
“So that’s what Easthart’s doing, saying ‘hey, the Blackstones don’t actually control everything?’” Stone frowned, resting a hand on his knee as he looked towards the campfire. “Seems like a bad idea: he’s just asking for the Blackstones to attack him when they may have not cared.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Joy admitted as she considered that she had no better idea than he did, upbringing to prepare her for noble life or not. “But if he was going to challenge the Blackstone Legion’s authority, this might be the best time to do so.”  
  
The Conqueror nodded once, glancing towards her. “So, using your example, that’s how you’d do it by force of arms? Declare that I don’t have authority over you, and dare me to bring you down?”  
  
Smirking, the young Warden saw the opening to get a jab in. “That depends, how are you asking?”  
  
“I dunno, don’t nobles use marriage to sort this shit out?”  
  
“Well, uh, yes, though…” she cleared her throat. “I was just using us for the example. You know, easy reference, rather than vague ranks.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
She wanted to look away, particularly as Stone was smirking, but ultimately she couldn’t. For all the man sitting next to her liked to say he was not one for politics, he seemed to have a head for it. A sarcastic head, but that just made it a breath of fresh air.  
  
“Too close to home?”  
  
“It’s fine,” Joy shook her head and held a hand up as she felt herself smile. “I walked into that one.”  
  
“That wasn’t a no.” Stone paused a moment, then snorted. “Will be, if I keep this up…”  
  
“You recognize it,” she offered as she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder guard - and not the one with the metal skull. “That’s better than most.”  
  
“Heh, well… thanks.”  
  
“Hey, what are friends for?”  
  
They looked at each other for a few more moments, then Joy pulled her hand back and shifted where she sat as that effectively ended the conversation.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
The march on Stonerust Castle was hoped to be one that would see a decisive engagement in the field - army to army, winner take all. To Apollyon’s great disappointment and that of many who hoped for a quick and glorious victory over a petty nobleman, the Ascendant Legion did not muster into the field in full ranks. There were two villages that the Blackstones passed through on the way, both abandoned and clear signs of a very recent evacuation. The first one was already empty, as were the granaries to the annoyance of their quartermasters.  
  
The second village, on the other hand?  
  
“Dark red and an even darker blue… I thought the Ascendant Legion went for all black?”  
  
Joyeuse shrugged as Rufus made the remark. “Lord Cargan must not have sworn his forces into the Ascendant Legion.”  
  
“But they’re still Easthart’s vassals,” the ranger glanced back to the advance party - Rufus and six of his rangers, plus another half dozen legionnaires - three sergeants, another knight accompanying her, and one particularly adept recruit with a satchel of javelins that Cross wanted the rangers to evaluate. They had been sent ahead to the second village, to use speed while Cross brought up the rest of the vanguard and to evaluate what was ahead.  
  
“That they are,” Joy agreed as she was kneeling to stay low as they looked into the village. It looked like their enemies, a dozen men-at-arms common and knightly alike, were busy emptying hidden stores onto a wagon. All their foes had brought horses, though the horses were tied to whatever post was available while the men worked. And overseeing it was a man with a much more decorated surcoat of a white tower on the aforementioned blue and red, still sitting on his horse as he oversaw the effort.  
  
_That’s probably Lord Cargan himself,_ the Warden decided as she caught a glimpse of silver sheen from his armor. Capturing him would also mean capturing Easthart’s marshal, as well as whatever his men were here for.  
  
“I think we can take them,” the other knight remarked as he reached down to grab his awlpike from the grass. “Creep a bit closer along the fences, then attack.”  
  
_We could, especially with me here,_ she considered as she looked at it. How different had this been from any other time she took a small squad of troops to clear things out, or even a makeshift contingent like when she intercepted the sally outside of Savona? This wouldn’t even be a fight of formations - it would be a quick skirmish, open order and more of a collection of duels rather than a proper battle. This was where her skill and quality would shine brightest.  
  
“Maybe, Sir Jankin, but I think we can do something better.” She turned, looking to Rufus. “Send your fastest ranger back to the vanguard. Tell Lord Cross what we found, and ask if Sir Heinrich can take the other knights in the contingent to ride around.”  
  
“Cut off his escape?” Jankin remarked as he glanced at her, his bushy beard following the frown growing on his face. “We could do that ourselves. In fact you could probably take them all on your-” he stopped himself there as the reminder hung in the air.  
  
Still, he had a point: Joy knew that had this been two months ago, she probably would have had no hesitation of launching an attack. This was a golden opportunity to capture an enemy commander, with great risks but what great deeds were accomplished without such? If anything, the greater the risk, the greater the glory!  
  
So, did her stopping to weigh the odds mean she was afraid, or that she was simply developing a better sense of caution? If this worked, it was a glorious victory and maybe she would have the answer. If not, at best she would be a prisoner again… or more likely, a corpse. So, was the risk of death worth the opportunity to capture Easthart’s marshal?  
  
_It’s not like Easthart would be forced to surrender if we did._  
  
“Alright then,” she decided as she felt her hand clench into a fist. “Send for Heinrich to ride up along the road. We’ll wait here and attack when either he does, or if Cargan’s men try to leave.”  
  
“I think we could set up along the road south,” Rufus remarked as he pointed past the village where there was another set of woods. “Ambush them on the way out. You know, if that’s not dishonorable.”  
  
Jankin shrugged. “It’s war.”  
  
“Let’s do it then,” Joy agreed as that would at least even the odds. “Though… would we all be able to hide?”  
  
Rufus glanced at their partial plate and brigandines, wincing briefly. “Maybe. But if you want to be sure, my rangers could do the ambush.”  
  
Joy considered, then nodded. They weren’t going to stand in the path of horsemen anyways - Jankin and his awlpike was the longest weapon they had, but even that was shorter than a lance. “Go, we’ll attack from this side if they start to leave.”  
  
The ranger bowed his head. “Yes milady,” and then they turned to the plan.  
  
Rufus sent one of his men to get the rest of the vanguard’s knights who could bring their horses (even if they often dismounted to fight) to attack swiftly. Then he led the remaining four to the east, skirting around the village to their left where a small valley, tall grass, an outlying farm’s fence, and so on gave the rangers cover. That left Joy, Jankin, and the other four to be ready to attack.  
  
_And you just turned this from twelve on twelve to twelve on six,_ a part of her chided in the long and mostly silent wait other than moving a little closer where the woods would still obscure them. At least a three hundred meter dash to attack if they had to, which meant winding themselves before engaging on top of that. For all they knew, the shock would not be enough and Cargan would just stand and fight against a small squad.  
  
Was this fear, rather than caution? Was she just fishing for an excuse not to attack, or was it caution to try and make the most of the opportunity before they had engaged? Or was she just worrying about this too much from having nothing but time to work herself up over it, especially now that she was about to get an answer and see if she could still be a fight-  
  
“Dame, they’re getting ready to leave,” Jankin warned as he pointed towards the wagon they had been loading. “We need to attack, now.”  
  
“I can hear horses too!” one of the sergeants remarked.  
  
_It’s just like swimming in the ocean - a deep breath, then take the plunge._  
  
Old wisdom from her mother that the young knight now heeded as she inhaled. “Charge!”  
  
They broke cover and ran towards the village - not quite a dead sprint, but they were running. They would arrive at the fight at the very least warmed up if not winded, but they needed to close the gap immediately and there was no point in a formation with how few of them there were.  
  
“My lord, Blackstones!” one of the Cargan men-at-arms shouted as they were closing in on the village.  
  
“Get moving, mount up!”  
  
That meant they did not have long, but luckily mounting up gave the Blackstones a chance to close in.  
  
They were inside the village as the enemy had mounted up, and one of the knights had already kicked his horse and charged them, lance lowering. Joy was about to get out of the way when a javelin flew out from behind and hit the horse square in the head, killing the beast and sending the knight to the ground with a tumble.  
  
“There’s only six of them!” another Cargan man-at-arms shouted as he turned to look at them, drawing a cavalry sword to go with his heater shield.  
  
“Get the wagon moving!” Lord Cargan himself snapped as he did not lower his visor. “Sir Robert, delay them!”  
  
“My lord!” another knight said as he turned his barded horse and rode towards them. He lacked a lance, but the mace he was carrying would be fatal all the same if it hit her head.  
  
And he was riding right for her, as well as five other enemies.  
  
Joy did not stay in place, throwing herself to the side as he rode towards her and then again as another man-at-arms passed by trying to stab her with his spear. Rolling back to her feet after the second dodge, she turned and heard a scream as one of the Blackstone sergeants took the enemy knight’s mace to the face, shattering the nose guard on his bascinet and almost certainly the skull behind it.  
  
_That could have been me!_ A part of her thought, but before she could dwell on it she heard a yell and saw another man-at-arms riding at her.  
  
She dodged to the right, getting away from his spear before she managed to cut the horse along the side, bringing the unprotected courser down. The man-at-arms managed to disentangle himself and leapt off, dropping his spear and hitting the ground with a grunt as he rolled with it and staggered up, vulnerable.  
  
Joy wasted no time, rushing forward and holding Dusk with both hands as she shoved the tip of the blade into his mail covered torso. The man-at-arms only had time to choke on his own blood as it suddenly went inside his stomach, then she pulled it out and turned to expect the next opponent - the mounted, no now dismounted knight as Jankin managed to trip the horse with his awlpike, and get knocked to his side in the process.  
  
And in that moment she saw vulnerability - Jankin was on the ground and another man-at-arms was riding towards him. The man at arms did not even need a polearm, he was just going to ride over Jankin and likely towards someone past him. Joy glanced down at the discarded spear of her previous opponent - she could use that!  
  
_Charge charging cavalry?!_ A part of her questioned, causing her to hesitate as the knight that would have attacked her was hit in the back by a Blackstone sergeant. But by the time she realized that Jankin needed her and she was moving forward, it was too late and the horse had gone over the fallen knight. With hindsight, she would understand that it would have been a futile gesture to try and get in the way. At that moment, though?  
  
She charged as the horseman kept moving forward, towards the legionnaire who had thrown his last javelin and missed only to have to turn and defend against a dismounted but wounded man-at-arms. He had no way of seeing the horseman riding right towards him. She could save him, and self-preservation faded into instinct.  
  
But the horseman had tunnel visioned and did not see Joy coming, discarded spear in hand as she held both it and Dusk together. The spear would strike first, and she managed to get close enough to stab the horse in the neck. Momentum carried the mount further and Joy was turned with it, but it dismounted the enemy.  
  
“Warden behind you!”  
  
Not even thinking as she heard the warning, Joy threw herself to the ground and the flanged iron ball passed by where her head had been a moment before. She had lost her grip on both her weapons, but she was able to pick Dusk back up as the Cargan knight tried to bring his horse to a halt. It couldn’t, the steed to skidding into the side of the wall, the knight himself almost going through the thatch and daub construction.  
  
He dismounted as the horse bolted, narrowly getting off before he slammed his head into a hanging baker’s sign. Joy took her chance, rushing forward to try and attack him before he fully recovered, only for him to see and bring his heater shield around in time, catching her and flinging her around with her momentum.  
  
Grunting as she hit the wall herself, she looked up to see the flanged mace coming right for her head. She ducked, narrowly avoiding a direct hit even if the glancing blow scrapped her helmet and left her ears ringing as it passed overhead. She had no time to try attacking the torso, instead ducking under his arm and letting her sword trail behind her as she moved past him. Dusk first bit into metal chasues, then as she was coming around it cut into his upper leg which was not as well protected.  
  
The enemy knight inhaled sharply from the pain, leaning forward as his weight was shifted towards the wall before he pushed himself back and faced her, keeping his shield close as he stepped forward. He struck again, a feinted blow to her left that then came up from below towards her jaw. She ducked to the right, away from it and the blow only narrowly missed her arm. He recovered quicker this time, striking with his shield like he was punching her.  
  
Head ringing as she took the blow to center mass, she saw another chance and brought Dusk around low, catching his other leg and leaving him to collapse forwards. He fell to his knees, and Joy - taking a quick moment to make sure no one else was coming for her - moved in closer, holding her sword ready with both hands to thrust it right into his-  
  
“Mer-”  
  
By the time her ringing head had heard his cry, it was too late and she had already plunged the blade through his back. Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a choke as his lungs were filled with blood and steel, the blade penetrating the back of his coat-of-plates not unlike her own armor. The longsword went through his body, going on until it hit the layer of armor on the other side, and then she pulled it back, watching the knight fall face-first into the dirt road. Blood did not leak out from the wound, only the red from where she had stabbed him.  
  
And as she was no longer locked in a fight for her life, she was able to look around. To notice and properly comprehend the smoke rising from the south and the smell of fresh burning, to hear the men groaning in chokes and moans as they lay dying. To feel her still tense muscles easing as she saw no other threats to her life or that of her comrades.  
  
Looking down at the knight, Joy knew he was still alive. He was trying to stay quiet as he died, but she knew better: his armor had not been able to save his life, it had only mitigated the damage enough that he would linger. It was time to do the merciful thing and put him out of his misery since there was no saving him.  
  
Kneeling, she rolled the House Cargan knight onto his bleeding back - infection was the least of his worries now - and saw his blue eyes through the thin slits of his helmet. Not too far removed from Robert’s-  
  
_That’s his name,_ she realized as she felt her veins turn to ice despite the adrenaline still running through. _The same name as my brother, maybe he even…_ she was about to reach a hand out, to lift his visor so she could see the face of the man she killed, but stopped herself. What would that add, a face to join the hundreds she had killed? Why was this one man’s death bothering her?  
  
She knew the answer - the humanizing element of knowing his name by his lord’s last order to him, of comparing him to her older brother by the shared name. And how she had been in the same position, silently crying for mercy, praying to be spared as much as her battered thoughts allowed.  
  
Joyeuse could imagine herself in his position, imagine that it was her blood now spilling onto the road. Imagine that it was her stomach that had been stabbed clean through. Imagine her own fear as death came with no one to comfort her in her final moments.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said as she leaned closer, not knowing if he could hear. “You fought well, sir knight. Now…” Joy had to steady herself before finishing, “now you can rest.”  
  
The knight tried to say something, only for it to turn into a hacking cough - a red cough, given the blood that splattered into the air holes of his helmet. He was in no condition to hear the trite remarks of the victor trying to assuage her own guilt. He was in pain, pain she had inflicted on his person. This was what it meant to be a knight - to kill and most likely be killed one day.  
  
Then she struck, a quick but powerful thrust to his throat that went through the mail protecting his neck until her sword dug into the top of his spine, before the already bloody weapon was removed with one final tug. The other knight went limp, and as Joy looked up she could only wonder what came next.  
  
All she could do was fall back on what she had learned the hard way, and a quick prayer for the recently departed. This was what she had chosen for her life, and even with a newfound awareness she knew the cruel reality of what it entailed. The taste of defeat had just gave her a new perspective on victory.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
Holden Cross arrived soon afterwards with the rest of the vanguard, finding his men having moved the bodies to the side and put out the wagon fire to get it out of the road for the rest of the army. That wagon, carrying supplies from a hidden stash that the Ascendant Legion had not grabbed during their initial evacuation, had been set ablaze by Lord Cargan himself after Rufus’ rangers almost shot his horse out from under him, then the vassal called a full retreat. His own personal escorts had escaped other than one who took an arrow to the shin, now held captive alongside one of the men-at-arms that had tried to delay what they thought was the main attack.  
  
Holden was happy with the news, particularly seeing Joy standing silently over the two prisoners they had taken.  
  
“How was it?” he asked.  
  
“Quick,” she answered as she looked towards the corpses, particularly a House Cargan knight’s. “But… brutal. Sir Jankin was wounded, and Sergeant Henry is now dead.”  
  
The Lawbringer simply nodded. “We wait here for Apollyon. Get some water, you look like you need it. I’ll guard the prisoners.”  
  
The Warden bowed her head, then left to deal with that. But as they waited, he noticed that she kept looking towards the corpses from the battle. His mind wandered to wondering if her view of fighting had been changed, but in the end he put it aside, particularly as there was the living to consider.  
  
Of the Blackstone wounded, Jankin’s wound was more that he had been tumbled around and battered rather than anything seeming to be broken. The other knight still felt it best that Noelle examine him in full, out of his armor once they had the safety to remove it properly. His squire, who had stayed with the vanguard, took custody of him in the meantime while they waited for Apollyon.  
  
The warlord had arrived with little fanfare as was her norm, at the fore of the advancing army. A few men were left behind to clean up, while the rest of the host moved on and the Lawbringer briefed his master on what had happened as they rode on.  
  
“A shame about the supplies,” Karl remarked as he leaned back in his horse’s saddle. “Their mistake could have benefitted us.”  
  
“We killed two enemy knights and five men-at-arms, plus two taken captive,” the Lawbringer growled as he looked at his peer. “We came out ahead.”  
  
“Still, I had hoped for a bigger battle,” Apollyon remarked with a light tone that Holden immediately recognized. “But maybe it is prudence holding him back rather than cowardice.”  
  
“Let’s see how he handles the rest of the siege before we start considering Easthart an admirable foe.”  
  
Apollyon chuckled. “Of course, Holden. He is still a rebel in your eyes.”  
  
“So, we lay siege?” Stone asked. “I mean, if they retreated once the food was set on fire, they probably didn’t need it.”  
  
“Unfortunately,” Karl agreed as he rested a hand on his rather well decorated saddle. “Still, perhaps the cavalry should take the fore in case Easthart attempts anything else.”  
  
Holden was about to remark on Karl’s eagerness to command, but thought better of it as he realized he had a point. “That may be wise, though there are no more villages in our path.”  
  
“They may still have a contingent in the field to harass us,” Apollyon decided as she turned to give new orders. “You will remain for now, Belial. Once we set into the siege, take the cavalry and sweep the countryside north of the river.”  
  
“Master,” Karl bowed his head with a faint smile.  
  
They went into some more minutiae like who would be the one to captain guarding the bridge during the siege (Apollyon decided to take that command herself as it would be the lynchpin of the entire affair), before the other commanders returned to their commands. And just like yesterday, Apollyon wanted one of them to stay for further discussion.  
  
“So, Holden, how did our young champion do?”  
  
“Joyeuse?” he asked, partially rhetorically as he tilted his head, then answered. “She’s still the knight we remember - she took down three of the men-at-arms that tried to delay our attack and killed the leading knight.”  
  
“Hardly a challenge for a Warden, especially when backed by a dozen others.”  
  
“Five, actually. She sent the rangers around to try and ambush their escape.”  
  
“And when did she attack?”  
  
Holden frowned as he considered the fact, that she had waited rather than engaging. They could have crept closer and attacked directly, and he knew that with the others she could have taken the group. It would have been messy and likely with more deaths, but it could have been done and would have likely taken Cargan prisoner.  
  
“She waited until they began to leave, as she was waiting for Sir Heinrich to arrive. It was caution, not cowardice.”  
  
“Yes, and you value caution.” The warlord shook her head. “Regardless, it was one battle.”  
  
Holden considered asking what Apollyon’s end goal was, but decided against it. Apollyon’s interest was a mercurial thing - those who continued to impress her like a certain former Knight-Brother of the Holy Balaur riding a rank behind him would find her favor ever-increasing, while those that stagnated like Salvander had would lose it just as certainly.  
  
_If Joyeuse wants it, she knows how to keep it,_ he decided. If she wanted to rise high, he knew she could do it: she had a full life ahead of her, however short war might make it. And he was getting old anyways - another decade and he might have to consider retiring just because his body couldn’t keep up anymore.  
  
Thoughts like that helped him understand the Vikings’ obsession with Valhalla, childish and barbaric as it was. But he knew all too well what such a high-note ending entailed.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
The rest of the march was unopposed, and so Stonerust Castle came into view. The castle butted up against the wider part of the river, and while the river was no great one like the Ashford to the north or the Ironrush that the Warden had grown up on the shores of, it was still too wide and too deep for any attempt to ford it. It could only be crossed by boat or bridge.  
  
And coming over a hill to the north, Joy could see the bridge the castle guarded, built at a much narrower point a couple hundred meters upstream. It was a design flaw in the castle’s defense, but as Yarwick noted when Joy asked the engineer about it the original bridge _did_ lead to the castle. The original architect wanted to use the wider part of the river as a moat to make that side of the castle impregnable, and built the bridge the hard (and expensive) way to get that.  
  
“Didn’t work out after an earthquake broke the bedrock it was built on, especially after storms washed away the rest,” he dryly remarked before having to turn his attention towards the preparations for the siegeworks. The army did not immediately march out to encircle, holding their formation on the road overlooking them and deploying to receive any sally forth.  
  
Stone’s contingent took the right side, while Apollyon and the bulk of the army took the middle. That left Cross commanding the infantry on the left while Lord Rottdal had the cavalry as the left gave them the most room to maneuver. Then Apollyon decided to attend the parley herself, rather than sending her second to do it. That left Cross to command the whole army and one of her retinue knights the middle, rather than the expected plan of Heinrich captaining the infantry.  
  
Then the warmaster called for Joyeuse to be part of the group that would go to the parley, consisting of herself, Apollyon, and two other knights from her personal retinue. She was the one carrying the white banner to signal the call for the parley - and somehow, Joy wondered if it was a veiled insult from their discussion the previous night.  
  
As they approached the men on the walls were ready for them. Crossbowmen manned the parapets, wearing kettle helmets and clad in black tunics likely worn over mail or better. They were supported by other knights and spearmen, though several of them were in their own colors rather than the legion’s, including at least one of Lord Cargan’s men. Had they just not been issued the new colors yet, or was it something else?  
  
Either way, the silence hung over the castle like a corpse shroud that made the steady amble of the horses even louder against the cobbled road leading up to the drawbridge itself. Stonerust Castle’s main gate was fairly well protected, a pair of towers and marticulations overlooking each side and jutting out enough for attackers to strike those going for the gate and the left tower, the larger of the two, had a trebuchet ready. The parley was already within its minimum range, but it would make a bombardment all the more hellish.  
  
And that was before factoring in the moat, which was filled with water from the river. Crossing that would require bridges or filling it in - they were not going to storm this castle with twelve hundred men, not without weeks of bombardment first, if a trebuchet could even damage the walls.  
  
Apollyon held her hand out as they reached the stone bridge that led out to the proper drawbridge, and she made her demand.  
  
“Thomas Easthart! If you wanted my attention, you now have it! Come out and face me!”  
  
Though Apollyon had raised her voice, it was only enough to be heard and far from a hoarse shout of battle commands. It had the desired effect as some of the spearmen on the wall glanced at each other and the crossbowmen hesitated a moment. Calls rang out, but it did not take more than a minute for the drawbridge to lower.  
  
Joy felt herself tensing even as she had to keep holding the banner, resting her free hand against the hilt of her wiped longsword. It was still a useless gesture - after all, no longsword was going to stop a volley from the crossbows or the two small ballistas that the bastions to the right had mounted on them. She did it all the same, and she could hear the shift as the two other knights tensed even as they had their kite shields for cover.  
  
And as the drawbridge fell, Apollyon turned. “Warden, you will accompany me. Leave the banner here, it has served its purpose.”  
  
Though uncertain as she glanced at the other two black-clad knights, they simply leaned back in their saddles while Apollyon dismounted from her pale yellow horse. Joy did the same, hoping that the horse would remain still without someone at the reins, and laid the banner down on the stonework before talking her position behind Apollyon as they approached the falling drawbridge.  
  
As it landed with a loud thud against a cut at the end of the stone bridge, she could see what awaited them behind the portcullis: a dozen halberdiers in black, and several knights in house colors accompanying a commander at the front: Lord Thomas Easthart himself.  
  
He bore a fresh surcoat of all black, embroidered with a blood-red emblem portraying two falcons flying up towards the top of a mountain, a sword striking and merging into the mountain from below. The Ascendant Legion’s chosen crest, also flying from the banners and worn by most of the now-legionnaires behind him.  
  
His armor looked to be well maintained partial plate, copper engravings into his shoulder guards and vambraces. He was wearing no helmet, but had a mail coif around his head to protect him, while his face was guarded against cold by a thick brown beard combed to come down to a point past his chin. A longsword was in its sheath at his hip, as was a dagger on the other side.  
  
“So, you came personally,” Easthart growled as he looked through the lowered portcullis. “I expected retaliation, but the personal attention of the Warlord of the Blackstone Legion? Dissent must rattle you.”  
  
Apollyon snorted. “If I feared the games of petty lordlings like yourself, I would have come when I first heard of your plan.”  
  
He scoffed, then his eyes fell on Joy, and he bowed his head. “Well met, Dame Maylis. Lord Cargan spoke of your valor today.”  
  
“Thank you, Lord Easthart.” Joy dipped her head slightly - just enough to show due respect when on opposite sides. Apollyon snorted at the display even as the lord in his own colors scowled.  
  
“Courteous words coming from a man who used her suffering for his own ends.”  
  
Easthart turned back to Apollyon. “And you have not punished the blackguard that inflicted it. So, you brought her here - do you think my men will hesitate because they face the Sword of Harrowgate?”  
  
“Perhaps, they broke before her this morning,” the legion’s warlord looked past the portcullis, towards the halberdiers standing ready. “But it is not necessary for more to die so you can declare yourself sovereign.”  
  
“I owe no fealty to anyone - not even the Iron Legion, even before they abandoned Ashfeld. House Easthart has…”  
  
“Yes, yes, stood as Royals in all but taking up the pointless titles for generations, standing like mighty barons. Save the annals for some lamb in a dusty scriptorium, I have come to deal with your little declaration.”  
  
“As you dealt with Lord Hervis of House Daubeny, who reconstitutes the Regal Legion as we speak?” he snorted, looking towards Joy. “Valiant as this dame is, that was no reason to let him go unpunished.”  
  
“And I offer you the same chance,” Apollyon continued as she held her arms out. “Trial by Combat, to the victor the fate of your Ascendant Legion. Only one of us needs to die.”  
  
“And who would I fight? The Sword of Harrowgate, bid to lend her legitimacy to your conquest? The Vengeance of Ashfeld instead, bring his order’s wrath? Or perhaps you will send your lord of the edge waiting on his horse over there?”  
  
Apollyon took a half step back, to look towards the two black clad knights - or more specifically the one on the right, with spikes on his armor and more notably on the sides of his shield. Then the warmaster glanced back and shrugged.  
  
“The choice is yours, Lord Easthart. You can even choose your champion if you will not risk your own neck. Perhaps bring to bear the Lawbringer that warned us of your scheme?”  
  
Easthart tensed, narrowing his eyes as Apollyon mentioned that knight. “The younger Dame Blaumann turns loyalty into a vice, but I will not force her to fight for me.”  
  
Joy noticed the knights behind the gate shift, particularly one in a black and blue surcoat with a yellow eagle crest on her heater shield. _Probably the older sibling,_ Joy reckoned before putting the thought aside, that was for later if the siege had to set in.  
  
“Then decide your champion, and let us end this farce. You know what will happen if I storm this castle.”  
  
Easthart took a half step back, glancing to his men. Joy hoped that he was thinking of their lives, of sparing them the pain of a long siege or worse, facing the fury of an attacking force that had to fight through the defenses of the castle. _Their lives, or my own?_  
  
But the castle’s lord returned his attention to the parley, shaking his head. “I am my own champion, but how do I know that such a victory will be honored? Why should your wolves abide by this?”  
  
“You can’t know,” Apollyon admitted as she rested a hand on the hilt of her longsword. “But a bloody battle will not do anymore to assure it.”  
  
“Perhaps, but I think we both know that such a trial is to your advantage, not mine. I hold Stonerust Castle, I have stores for a siege and access to the river. I doubt you could spare the manpower to occupy my vassals’ lands during a siege, and winter is here.”  
  
Joy was not sure what to expect - a biting remark of cowardice on his part for letting winter do his dirty work, or perhaps instead a promise that such obstacles would not hinder them. Maybe even a threat to punish his people for his insolence if he would not come out and fight, to live up to the demonic names. But yet again, the master of the Blackstone Legion did her own thing.  
  
She laughed.  
  
“You find this funny?” Easthart demanded, gaping as his mouth was half open.  
  
“I do,” Apollyon admitted as she stopped herself. “You speak the truth, Lord Easthart, and have the willingness to declare it! Good, I was worried that gentle birth had lost its touch. I look forward to seeing your command of the castle in the coming days.”  
  
“Months,” he corrected.  
  
“We will see, Lord. We will see.”  
  
Apollyon turned abruptly and left. Joy hesitated a moment as Easthart frowned at the lack of courtesy, offering him a shrug before turning to follow her master away.  
  
As they returned to their horses and mounted up, the garrison relented their attention and returned to a watchful patience, pulling their crossbows back and likely putting them away as the day was growing overcast. The drawbridge was pulled up behind them, and Joy knew that a siege was now inevitable - Apollyon was not going to let this go, nor could she afford to.  
  
Once again carrying the white banner, though this time she was not displaying it to be seen, Joy looked to her master. She wanted to speak up, to ask why she had been brought to the parley, but held her tongue. This was not the time, not with a siege to plan.  
  
“Easthart is cautious, for a fool that branded himself,” growled one of the two black knights. The one that the castle’s lord had called out earlier, clad a coat of plates with his Blackstone standards hanging from the back. His head was hidden behind a barbute helmet with the face masked by a mail coif that ran up around his mouth, and quite a few spikes attached to his armor. Mostly short ones, to be fair.  
  
“That he is,” Apollyon agreed as she nodded to the retinue knight. “We can deal with him soon enough, but for now we will see the true mettle of this aristocrat.”  
  
“We should burn his holdings to the ground, slaughter them all. Prove that he cannot protect his people.”  
  
“Can we say we protect Ashfeld anymore if we do that?” Joy shot back immediately.  
  
He snorted. “This is war. Honor will demand we follow through our threats. Tell me, Warden, if our threat includes the execution of the garrison, will you be their headsman?”  
  
She narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. “If we have to storm the castle, then we are obligated to follow up on our threats. Otherwise, who will believe them come the next siege?”  
  
“No matter what they are,” he nodded. “Why do we pretend that honor is something greater when it demands savagery of its greatest proponents?”  
  
“Only a fool makes threats they will not follow through,” the Warden growled back. “Where do you draw the line?”  
  
“Victory.”  
  
Apollyon chuckled. “Well said, Vortiger. I do not think it will be necessary to go to such lengths here, but let us see more of Easthart’s talent before we waste time with sheep.”  
  
“As you wish, master,” the black knight acknowledged with a dip of his head. “When do we act?”  
  
“I will call you when the moment is right. This will take time.”  
  
XXXXX  
  
The siege began in earnest, with the Blackstone Legion immediately setting into digging trenches to isolate the castle, a task made harder by how cold the ground was from the start of winter. The majority of the focus was towards the north end of the castle, where the main drawbridge was. This was the area expected to receive any sally, and so command of it was given to Lord Cross along with a portion of both Stone and Belial’s commands (more Belial’s) to shore up his ranks. Stone and the rest of his Iron Legionnaires would be on the west side, acting as the Lawbringer’s reserves and to shore up any frontline against a sally. They were not expected to be attacked directly, but they would still check anything from the west.  
  
Apollyon took her forces and erected her command post at the bridge itself and on the road, blockading it and having her forces begin fortifying their camp’s palisade towards the end of the first day while she left the others to deal with the castle’s encirclement. That left Belial in reserve, the cavalry stationed between Cross and Apollyon, ready to support both or sally forth where needed after they had swept the north side of the river and found that even the more fortified of the manors on the north side were abandoned.  
  
This all consumed the first two days, putting up the siegeworks and hacking down the trees needed for it. The defenses were focused towards the castle itself, since that was where they knew the enemy was. It was boring digging, with the most excitement coming from the castle’s trebuchet taking a shot at Cross’ camp at the end of the second day. The boulder fell completely short, simply embedding itself into an abandoned pasture. It was worth a laugh and reassuring to know they were outside of range, but little more.  
  
For Joy’s part, she spent that time supporting Cross in seeing to the work being done. Being a knight meant she was not expected to do menial labor, especially as Cross’ second. Still, safeguarding those who were working gave her time to think.  
  
Rather than her thoughts going to the bloody skirmish, though, she had found herself considering other things. From the siege itself and the involved strategies, to petty things like the smaller embroidering she had brought to do in her downtime. She had not gone to Apollyon about this as she was not sure if it was just falling back to her old habits now that she had won, or if she had already internalized war’s bloody tally and hadn’t realized it.  
  
On the up side, it left her without any qualms about making her way towards Stone’s camp on the third evening of the siege. The Conqueror had offered drinks from his contingent’s supplies, even if there wasn’t an open tavern anywhere nearby like he had first promised. And the Warden decided to take him up on it, to catch up further now that the siege was settling into the waiting game.  
  
Stone’s camp had already put up the basic palisade perimeter, though it looked to be rather weak and did not have any watchtowers yet. They had stuck bells for the gate guards to use for alarms as well as a signal fire ready to light if attacked, but fortification efforts were still on the trenchline. And besides the main camps over a dozen sentry camps had been established between them. Vigilance was their main defense, as it would be necessary to reinforce those watch posts if any serious action happened.  
  
Leaving her horse at the makeshift stable (which at the moment amounted to a few larger tents with hitching posts and hay inside, which it stank fiercely), Joy was making her way to the center camp when a familiar voice called out to her.  
  
“Hey, Warden! Over here!”  
  
Turning, she smiled as she saw the black haired and clean shaved knight who had called her, sitting next to a Lawbringer with brassed pauldrons.  
  
“Edward, Alberic, good to see you!” Joy answered as she walked towards them.  
  
“Good to see you too,” the Lawbringer remarked as he was sharpening his poleaxe with a whetstone. “Commander’s busy at the moment.”  
  
“With what?” she asked, frowning as she held her helmet under her arm.  
  
“One of those knights from the Shard started a duel with John,” Edward answered as he grimaced before adding. “Of Harrowhold.”  
  
“Harrowhold?”  
  
“A relatively large manor outside of Harrowgate,” Alberic explained before wincing as one swipe of the whetstone went too fast. “Anyways, the Blackstone was making some snide remarks when how pointless this mess is came up.”  
  
“Insulting the Iron Legion?” Joy asked as she shook her head, the noise of horses in the distance that she just assumed were from the makeshift stable.  
  
“Unfortunately,” Edward shook his head. “Lord Rottdal showed up to explain the affair.”  
  
Before any of the three could say anything, Stone’s tent opened (the two legionnaires on guard snapping to attention) and Joy saw both Belial and Stone stepping out.  
  
“Certainly, I will have your knight sent here,” the senior warlord was saying before he stopped at the sight of the Warden. “Ah, Dame Maylis. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”  
  
Joy briefly dipped her head before retorting. “Am I not allowed to visit friends, Lord Rottdal?”  
  
He glanced at Stone for a moment, then forced a closed smile and nodded once as he looked back. “Of course not. Now then, I should-”  
  
Further discussion was cut off as an alarm went up - one of the guards had started ringing the alarm, and another legionnaire was running through the camp - probably one of the perimeter guards who left their partner in order to report.  
  
“Commander!” the legionnaire shouted, “Commander, it’s Dame Ashley’s camp!”  
  
Stone turned sharply towards the legionnaire. “What’s happening?”  
  
“I don’t know, I just saw a bunch of horsemen ride right for it!”  
  
Feeling her veins turn to ice as she realized what that meant, Joy looked towards Stone as the Conqueror’s mouth opened a bit before it snapped shut and he started barking orders.  
  
“Any knight with a horse, mount up and get out there! Spearmen, archers, form up to the west! Lock all the other gates! _Move it men_!”  
  
They immediately broke off, Edward running towards the stables and Alberic not too far behind - though the Lawbringer left his poleaxe behind. Other men were running around hastily grabbing their gear whether it was spear and shield, a sword, bows, or in a few cases halberds.  
  
“Joy?”  
  
She turned as Stone had spoken up. “Hmmm?”  
  
“Do you have a horse? Edward could use you.”  
  
It took a moment for the thought to connect, and another as it dawned on her that she was standing there frozen when she could help, before she broke into a run. Fitting her helmet back over her head as she ran towards the stable to mount up again, she briefly wondered why she had hesitated. Was it just the shock of the sudden incursion, or something else?  
  
_Put that aside, you have to fight,_ she reminded herself as she entered the makeshift stable just as Edward was mounting up. The knights rode quickly out of the camp, legionnaires and camp followers pressing themselves flat against the tents or in one case even toppling into it to avoid being hit.  
  
“Come on, faster!” Edward called as he was spurring his horse on, not drawing his sword as he was driving his destrier as fast as it could go. Alberic was to his right, the Lawbringer having grabbed a spare lance from one of the racks near the stable. Joy was not too far behind, the fourth of the eight or so knights that had been able to mount up in time.  
  
Dark as it was with only a waning half moon to guide them, Joy could make out the shadows and shouts of the battle waging in the camp ahead. Horsemen had ridden in - how they had gotten so close Joy wasn’t sure. Had the pickets further out been silenced? No time to worry about that now as the fight was already ending.  
  
_We’re too late!_ The Warden realized as she saw the attacking horsemen slowing their steeds down, then two of them stopped and dismounted, grabbing something that she could not make out from the signal fire- _Prisoners!_  
  
“Cut them off, don’t let them escape!”  
  
Joy heeded the order, leaning down and giving her horse another kick to the flanks. She was not the best rider, the fifth knight in the group starting to outpace her even as she was focusing everything on driving the horse onwards, but she could still help.  
  
“Come on, faster! Run them down!”  
  
They were in pursuit, following the raiding horsemen west along the river. The reflection in the water gave them a little more light, but not as much as they would like. Especially when one of the knights behind Joy had his horse stumble - there was no time to stop and check if the rider was hurt, they had to keep going and hope their own did not step into a hole or hit a large rock they could not see.  
  
_“They’re gaining on us!”_ one of the enemy riders warned, one towards the rear who had a heater shield whose paint pattern Joy could not make out in the dark.  
  
_“Just a little further!”_  
  
_“DRAW!”_  
  
Joy heard the command bellowed by another even further up, but before she could process it the subsequent command had been issued.  
  
_“LOOSE!”_  
  
“Archers!” Joy shouted as it suddenly connected to her: whoever had launched this attack had prepared a fallback with archers to cover the retreat!  
  
And as she felt what amounted to a punch hit her in the shoulder, she tensed and looked down, hoping to keep her solid helmet between the mail around her neck and anything coming, and that nothing hit the horse. Was it trained longbowmen with bodkin arrows, or just peasants with self-bows? She was assuming the former, and so did Alberic as he issued his own command.  
  
“Break off, break off!” the Lawbringer ordered, turning his steed to the right. The others followed suit, a messy mass in the dark as horses slowed and tried to avoid hitting each other, turning and even jumping to avoid that, all as another volley came in as they turned around.  
  
_“Save your arrows!”_ Another command from the enemy captain, and as the volleys stopped Joy was able to look ahead: she could see it, at least two dozen archers had been waiting for them on a wooded bluff ahead, and as Joy spared a glance to her shoulder she knew that it was not some peasants with self-bows - at the very least, the one who had shot her was a professional longbowman, though her armor had stopped it as the arrow had hit a plate pauldron.  
  
But as she watched the enemy horse slowing down past their covered retreat, she had to wonder: who had been taken prisoner? What had the damage been? Who had even launched the attack - it was too well organized to be random brigands, and such bandits would have to be absurdly confident to attack the Blackstone Legion so openly. Were the two groups Ascendant Legion, sellswords, a mix?  
  
Sir Edward, a bolt sticking from his coat of plates, looked towards the enemy, growling as he was clearly weighing whether it was worth the risk to ride on anyways or to pull back. At least one of their own was taken captive, and there was nothing they could do about it.  
  
“Gahhhhh,” he snarled as he pulled his horse around, “Pull back! Get out of range, there’s nothing we can do here.”  
  
There were a few grumbles, but one look ahead and at the arrows they had taken told them it was wise to back off. None of them had been hurt - not even the horses as the quilted barding had caught the arrows and stopped them at the range they had been loosed at - but it was enough to tell them that the enemy had their mark.  
  
And that was before considering that they could not see well enough to tell if they were running into stakes or a vulnerable enemy. In the darkness it was too dangerous to wait around - for all they knew, there were footmen sneaking up on them at that very moment.  
  
Still, the former Iron Legion knights were muttering promises of revenge as, even if it was in good tactical sense, they had to withdraw in shame.


	18. Empathy

“There’s no way they all rowed across.”  
  
“How do you know?” Stone asked as he stood behind her as she was inspecting the marks left by the boats used by the attackers.  
  
“I grew up where the Ironrush met the Whitewater,” Joyeuse answered as she pushed herself back to her feet. “I dealt with moving horses across a river more times than I can count.”  
  
“Right, I’ll take your word for it,” the Conqueror admitted as he glanced around. “So, where did the horsemen go?”  
  
Now it was her turn to admit ignorance. “I don’t know, but if I had to guess I would say they rode on.”  
  
“And probably kept moving until dawn,” he agreed as he glanced behind him, towards the sun still rising in the east. “Maybe Rufus found the tracks.”  
  
It was the morning after the attack on the sentry camp. Stone had personally led a patrol to investigate, and in force with fifty of his men. Joy joined the patrol with Cross’ permission, and the Lawbringer even lent his newest peer the services of his rangers for the task. This attack was not going to go unanswered - the former Iron Legion soldiers had been hurt too many times to let it slide.  
  
And a little further west, Rufus had found the tracks they were looking for. The leavings in the thin layers of snow weren’t fresh anymore, but were not too old either so that became their trail. Once it led them to the road, they followed it on and into one of the manor houses that had been abandoned and swept clear by Lord Rottdal’s cavalry during the prior two days of the siege.  
  
There was not much to look at but the buildings themselves, as its evacuation had happened long before the Blackstones arrived in the area. Anything worth taking was long gone, though Joy had to wonder if it was intentional by those who lived there or if looters had come by later. Still, they found the signs of very recent visitation and the snow left clear tracks, so they moved on despite the chill leaving them bundled up in their cloaks.  
  
“Hopefully they haven’t gone too far west,” Stone remarked as they mounted back up. “We’re a bit too armed to visit the bishop.”  
  
Joy glanced at him, and the Raider’s skull. “Especially with the helmet.”  
  
“Heh, it’s not like I wear the thing to mass,” he snorted as Rufus took the fore to lead them on. “Come on, let’s keep going.”  
  
They continued on, though it did not take long for them to break into conversation again as it was clear that it was just trying to find the next clue of any change of direction.  
  
“So, think I should get rid of it?”  
  
“Huh?” Joy asked, frowning as she turned her head towards him.  
  
“The skull,” Stone remarked as he jerked a thumb towards it. “I mean, I’ve worn it for a few years, but it’s just grim.”  
  
Joy paused as her own thoughts came up. “It’s a good reminder that you have to die, though.”  
  
He paused, about to say more before stopping himself. As the silence grew, Joy had another question suddenly strike her mind: was it just being sensitive to the previous month’s events, or something more? _I’m not some fragile-_  
  
“Fair enough,” Stone interrupted as he shrugged. “Yeah, guess it is. Kept my britches on as I got knighted, even if it got looks.”  
  
“I would’ve thought it was just some macabre art if you hadn’t told me.”  
  
“And it doesn’t bother you?”  
  
That caused her to hesitate. On one hand, it should have bothered her a lot more, yet… it didn’t. Was it the same as the battle a few days prior where she shrugged it off, or was it something darker that she had never thought of? _Put that aside._  
  
“Well,” she admitted, “I wouldn’t want to introduce you to my family while you had it on, for one.”  
  
He chuckled. “Neither would I. ‘course, they’d probably take issue with me being a Conqueror.”  
  
“Well, my mother would, and Robert might just because his station expects it, but Brandon?” Joy felt herself smiling. “He will talk your ears off.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“He always liked the story behind Conquerors. He knew he would never become one, but he always liked that quote about it being more honorable to rise to a throne.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
The topic drifted off there, and Joy’s mind wandered again. Home - she knew that going home was unlikely, even if it was just to visit - especially if she got as distracted as she had on the way to Ashfeld in the first place. Still, it would be a lie to say that she did not want to at least see them again. Letters could only do so much, especially over such a distance. There was so much that could be discussed, yet it would be left out.  
  
_I chose to come to Ashfeld, and keep getting sidetracked on the way,_ she reminded herself with a quiet exhale. _Just because I didn’t think it through doesn’t mean I can change my mind now._  
  
XXXX  
  
For all knighthood had become tied to service, especially to a legion, mercenary work was still a suitable vocation for the knightly class. Whether it was to gain experience abroad where at home there was only peace, furthering their own goals political or personal, or monetary needs, mercenary knights were not an uncommon sight. While often stereotyped as unreliable, in truth most would fulfill a contract so long as their employers did not treat them as disposable and paid them on time, whether it was as auxiliaries or for jobs they would tackle themselves.  
  
Still, as they were about to attack, Joyeuse could not help but feel uneasy. Not even a year ago she had been in a situation just like the men they were about to attack - relaxing after a successful payday and enjoying lunch made sweeter by the thoughts of what they could do when they reached the next town. They were unprepared for the attack about to hit them, especially since the lookout had just been quietly captured by Rufus and one of his rangers.  
  
Had they only wanted information, that probably would have been the long and short of the plan - grab one of them and interrogate whoever they took. But Stone wanted more than that, even if it ran the risk of an encounter as they were on the far side of one of Easthart’s borders.  
  
_“We are technically bringing the war to the Bishop’s lands,” Joy had warned as they laid out the plan of attack._  
  
_“If he wants to be a turbulent priest for some sellswords, that’s his choice,” was the Conqueror’s answer. “Besides, I’d say they brought it first.”_  
  
_“We’re just removing it?” She scoffed as she smiled. “Alright, let’s find out what they know.”_  
  
And now it was time for both information and revenge. Stone gave the signal to attack, and the advance group moved in. It was only a few legionnaires, as most of the troop had spread out to intercept any stragglers. Or in the case of a few of the rangers, creeping up the hill to use their bows for some added shock. They had ditched their cloaks for movement, leaving them with the horses and the squires tending to that.  
  
One of the mercenaries saw them striding around the hill and raised the alarm, the others arming up as the attacking Blackstones broke into a run, and Joy came face to face with those who had escaped her previously.  
  
They were decently equipped, all wearing at least mail with a little under half of them better fitted with a brigandine or coat of plates beneath their cloaks. But they lacked distinct heraldry, mostly wearing brown tabards without any insignias - the only exception was the one that Joy guessed was the leader, wearing a little more to his gear and a few parts had a familiar teal and white pattern painted on the shoulder guards - former Regal Legion, and a Conqueror from their ranks going by the chains around his arms. Whatever memories might have surfaced from that, he was her intended target as they attacked.  
  
The Warden and Conqueror were the vanguard of the attack, meeting the two mercenaries with sword and board who tried to interrupt them. Joy sidestepped a quick strike from the shield to try and fix her weapon, then threw her weight into him. The shoulder check knocked the mercenary back and two quick cuts managed to cut into his arm, wounding but not fatally.  
  
The Warden moved into her next attack, a powerful stroke from above to try and cut into his head or at least knock him out of the fight. He managed to get his shield in place to stop it from hitting head on, but she still managed to force the shield down and dazed him. Following through by grappling and throwing him aside, she shoved Dusk through his now vulnerable back - past cloak, mail, and gambeson alike. She did not linger, tugging the sword back on as she turned to prepare for the next attacker.  
  
There was none, as Stone had already killed one enemy (sending the poor mercenary to the ground with her chin smashed) and was already beating down a second opponent. Other legionnaires were in their fights, and that was where Joy saw where she needed to go next.  
  
The leader of the mercenaries with shield and mace was dueling one of the legionnaires, and had the upper hand as he knocked his opponent’s weapon aside and hit him in the arm. The legionnaire fell with a cry, but before the mercenary could finish him Joy already sprang towards him, almost losing her left hand grip on the blade even as the right remained firm as she brought the sword down.  
  
“Shit!” the leading mercenary cursed as he barely got his shield in place in time to stop the blow, cloak flowing with his movements.  
  
“Just surrender!” Joy snapped back as the two disengaged, both glancing around quickly to keep their situational awareness - the fight was going against the mercenaries, and a few had already broken for the horses.  
  
“I… shit!” he cursed again as he looked at her, or perhaps more specifically the plate around her chest as the two circled. “Look, it wasn’t personal! We got hired!”  
  
“Surrender and start talking, I’ll spare you.”  
  
He took one more glance towards the horses, and one of the mercenaries had already rode into the trees, but the others were being run down and killed by the former Iron Legionnaires. The one who rode off would only find an ambush waiting to kill him.  
  
“I yield,” he conceded as he dropped his mace. “Do the honorable thing.”  
  
Joy nodded when she heard rustling behind her. The legionnaire he had almost killed-  
  
“Stand down!” she ordered, holding a hand out and managing to grip his shield, “he surrendered!”  
  
The legionnaire looked at her, expression masked by the mail aventail running from his bascinet, but the tone was clear. “What?! He killed-”  
  
“I know,” she answered as she glanced at him. “But we can make him pay in other ways.”  
  
The mercenary winced as he held his hands up, but the skirmish was over and he knew it.  
  
XXXXX  
  
“For a man who hasn’t sworn his men into the legion, Julian is sure committing to the Ascendant cause.”  
  
Joy raised an eyebrow at Apollyon’s remark as the explanation of what had happened ended as the afternoon had settled in.  
  
The captured mercenaries - which amounted to only the Conqueror Joy had convinced to surrender and the lookout - had been added to the others taken this campaign, locked in a makeshift stockade that had been set up and kept under guard without helmets or weapons - if nothing else, they could be conscripted into the legion afterwards. They had been quick to confess to the details of their contract with the Ascendant Legion - to launch a quick raid and take prisoners if possible and probe the Blackstone perimeter.  
  
“Lord Cargan is Lord Easthart’s marshal,” Cross offered as he pressed an armored fist down on the table. “He may simply be carrying out his master’s dictates, particularly as the Cargan estate is the most fortified outside of Stonerust.”  
  
“So, how many of my men do you want me to leave behind?” Stone asked. “They took Dame Ashley, Henry, and Erik prisoner. I’m getting them back.”  
  
“And leave our western flank exposed?” Belial asked, frowning as he folded his arms. “I sympathize with you, Lord Stone, but I think they wanted this. To draw our men away from the siege.”  
  
“You’re commanding two hundred knights - you can fill in the gap until I’m back.”  
  
“I also command our reserves - the troops that should be committing this attack! I will get your missing legionnaires back, Lord Stone, but this command is mine.”  
  
Cross cut in, looking towards his long-time peer. “Karl, are you looking for the hostages, or your own glory?”  
  
The other warlord paused, as if he realized he had left himself open. Unfolding his arms, he shook his head.  
  
“I will admit that I am eager to remind everyone why I am a warlord of this legion,” he conceded before looking to Stone. “But have your men not suffered enough, Lord Stone, to ask them to attack a fortified keep?”  
  
“Yeah, we’ve suffered,” the Conqueror pressed a less armored fist against the table. “And it’s past time we hit back!”  
  
“You do not have time for a siege, and they will have their winter stores as well,” Cross warned as the Lawbringer looked towards him. “You will need to assault the walls or find another way in.”  
  
“Which will see the hostages killed,” Belial continued.  
  
“And your cavalry can do what my footmen can’t?” Stone shot back, to which he received no answer. “Look, I’m getting them back, but…”  
  
“But you know it can’t be done without blood,” Apollyon finally weighed in, leaning forward as she interrupted the argument between her direct subordinates. “And you do not want to lose any more friends, especially to just slap the Cargans on the wrist.”  
  
Stone exhaled, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. But I’m not letting them get away with it either.”  
  
“The hostages are already dead,” growled another voice, the man standing behind Apollyon as Mercy had been nowhere to be found lately. Even then, the warmaster seemed to want her Black Prior in on the meetings.  
  
“Were you not listening?” the Conqueror snapped back. “The mercenaries were specifically told to try and take hostages if they could. The Ascendants want live captives.”  
  
“To interrogate as you interrogated the sellswords,” Vortiger snorted. “If you want vengeance, execute the freelance you captured. Make an example.”  
  
Cross folded his own arms, the plates of his armor clanking as he did. “Ignoring the fact that the knight surrendered under terms, that doesn’t get our men back.”  
  
“You’re right, it doesn’t. But it’s better than doing nothing.”  
  
Apollyon turned to her retinue knight. “You have a plan? Share it.”  
  
“Master,” the Black Prior bowed his head briefly before stepping closer to the table so he could move the pieces. “A siege of the keep will simply be isolated and crushed in detail - even Lord Cargan’s wife can hold it.”  
  
Joy watched as he moved the small pieces from each of the vassal estates south of the river save for the Cargan estate - more pieces than Stone had moved, but that was because each piece represented an unknown but likely lesser amount scattered across the rest of the local vassals. Still, together it enough to pin the former Iron Legion contingent and force them to commit to breaking out or assaulting the keep.  
  
“However, it is clear that Easthart has no problem with using his vassals to strike us. Why should we not strike them in turn?”  
  
“You said we can’t afford a second siege,” Belial pointed out, “And it’s not like we can do a chevauche when there’s nothing _to_ burn.”  
  
“Oh, but there is,” Vortiger’s smile was far too predatory as he showed his teeth. “Who said we have to _take_ the estates? Warehouses full of grain burn, and we have been using this opportunity to practice moving siege engines in winter. Why not do more with that?”  
  
Stone tilted his head as he looked to Vortiger. “So what, just lob fire at the manors?”  
  
“Exactly. Burn them all.”  
  
“And what does that prove?” Joy snapped before she could stop herself. All eyes fell on her - that was an outburst she should not have done.  
  
“So what plan do you have then, Warden?” Apollyon asked, turning her attention towards her. “You disagree with this plan, so how would you do it?”  
  
_I really should have kept my mouth shut,_ a thought that was redundant as she felt herself wishing she could disappear, but she couldn’t. Nor could she have let this dark knight’s plan go forward unchallenged. And now that she was on the spot...  
  
_‘Sometimes, it is better to feign knowledge. Create enough to make them guess, and take what you can find.’_  
  
One of her mother’s lessons on politics. Why was that… _Stall._  
  
“This conflict is bigger than one rebellious lord,” Joy started, looking towards Cross briefly. He caught the signal and took a step to the side so she could move closer to the table, and she started to return the pieces to where they had been. “This is about Ashfeld’s rule going forward.”  
  
“Oh?” Apollyon asked. “And what if I _want_ the lordlings to fear the Blackstone Legion?”  
  
“But do you want it to be _hated_? Mass slaughter may intimidate some, but others will ask when it will fall down on them. What will happen if they are not sufficiently faithful for the likes of Orobas, or if they happen to get into a feud with one of the legion’s captains?”  
  
“Disputes happen all the time,” Belial pointed out as he folded his arms. “They don’t always end in slaughter.”  
  
“No, but Easthart’s rebellion is weak because no one flocked to his banner - he can only stand up to us because we are fighting in his demesne. If we murder whole villages for one man’s ambition, the next rebellion will be that much stronger.”  
  
“Rebellion comes easily enough without atrocity, and costs us when we must make an assault,” The warlord pointed out as he glanced towards Cross. “How many died attacking Westhold, Holden?”  
  
The Lawbringer shifted, his plates and mail rustling as he did, but she could hear him speak - an echoing memory that suddenly came to mind.  
  
_‘These warriors don’t have to die. Trial by combat, right now!’_  
  
“Too many,” Joy agreed, sparing him from answering even as she was unsure of where that thought was leading to, “but where Daubeny was stubborn, maybe here it will be accepted?”  
  
“You intend to invoke Trial by Combat?” Apollyon asked as she tilted her head. “An interesting strategy, Warden. Easthart already refused such, why would his vassal’s wife agree?”  
  
_That’s it,_ she realized as she seized the idea.  
  
“Perhaps,” the Warden conceded as she knew it was a distant hope. “But we can give her a reason to take it. Let her keep the hostages for the rest of the campaign if our champion loses, but if we win let them surrender honorably. Take House Cargan out of the campaign entirely, even if unmolested. At worst, their champion dies, but they will survive.”  
  
“And Lord Cargan has been quite busy trying to preserve his family name,” Belial remarked, to which Cross immediately snorted.  
  
Stone pointed something else out, as he was looking at the keep on the map. “Jo-” he stopped and corrected himself, “Dame, we’re assuming that she _can_ surrender it all. Lord Cargan can still contact them.”  
  
“A noblewoman does not take her husband’s name just because it looks pretty on letters,” Joy explained out as she looked to him. “She has the authority to act in his name. Even if the Cargan troops in Stonerust do not stand down, it’s still a blow.”  
  
“But hardly one they can’t recover from,” Vortiger growled as he shook his head. “Julian’s troops will just swear into the Ascendant Legion to absolve themselves of his wife’s pact.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Apollyon agreed as she looked down at the map, “but I see the merits of the plan. Very well then, Warden. You will confront whatever champion House Cargan summons, should they accept.”  
  
“I-” Joy knew she should have seen that coming, but she bowed her head. “Yes, master. I will ride out at dawn.”  
  
“Not so fast,” Apollyon cut off, and Joy could just barely imagine a smile behind the warlord’s helmet. “If she refuses, you will conquer House Cargan’s estate by force and strip the lord of his lands, along with whatever other punishment is fit for daring to defy us.”  
  
“I…” A glance towards Stone caused her gut to tighten as she had an idea of what his men wanted, but she bowed her head. “Yes, master. However, I will need troops if it comes to that.”  
  
“I believe I can be of help,” Belial offered. “I command the reserves, after all.”  
  
“She’s rescuing Harrowgate legionnaires,” Stone growled. “I’ll bring some of my men.”  
  
“No,” Apollyon decided. “We will leave our commanders here. Stone, you can send forty of your men to support her. Belial, send another forty from your cavalry.”  
  
“Yes, master,” the envious warlord said as he bowed his head, deflated.  
  
“I’ll send Sir Alberic then,” Stone agreed before looking to her. “Just bring them home, Joy.”  
  
“I will,” she promised as she nodded back. Despite that, her heart was pounding - this was the largest command she ever had, even if it was not her first. And she had blundered her way into this challenge.  
  
_This is what it means to lead,_ she reminded herself as they went into a few more pieces of minutiae before the meeting adjourned. She spent it preparing herself, keenly taking in all the details she could of both her target and what she would command. But when the meeting ended, she intended to stay behind and ask a few questions.  
  
“The meeting was adjourned, Warden, and you need to prepare.” Apollyon remarked, and Joy noticed that Vortiger had been bid to stay as well.  
  
Joy was about to say why she had waited, but decided that she was pushing her luck. Instead, she bowed. “Yes, master.”  
  
XXXXXX  
  
“You know her plan is foolish, master.”  
  
“A fool’s hope, yes.”  
  
Vortiger frowned as Apollyon turned towards another table, where a barrel of mead and several wooden mugs were left for her own use as the legion’s master poured herself a drink.  
  
“Then why did you agree to it? You could care less for politics, especially with Belial still fuming without glory.”  
  
“Because I want answers,” Apollyon explained as she opened the tap. “You have studied the rumors as much as I have about Lady Ariane’s courtship.”  
  
“The knight the Warden killed a few days ago,” he agreed as he considered. “But Lady Ariane may just use this as an opportunity to have her own champion kill the Warden.”  
  
“Perhaps, or perhaps she will bid the house’s longbowmen to shoot.” Apollyon was still looking away as she raised the visor on her helmet and drank.  
  
“And so we lose a Warden for nothing.”  
  
“Such is war. If she survives such, it will be another lesson.”  
  
Vortiger paused as a sudden thought occurred to him. What better way to strip her of foolish notions of honor when it was time for revenge than this? “And you hope that if it happens, she will cast aside the pretense and take revenge.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Apollyon set the mug back down, lowering her visor as she turned. “However naive you think she is, she is a Warden and a veteran of many battles. This is would hardly be the first fortress she helped sack.”  
  
A snort was his initial answer. “She’s a Royal, of Royal conflicts and wars. They don’t fight the wars of Ashfeld.”  
  
“No, but I did not think she was capable of treason. Look at what she tried to do to Orobas.”  
  
Vortiger rolled his eyes. “Bah, that was a childish attempt at being a hero. Besides, she would just come up with some nonsense about serving Cross. Nobles are far too good at excuses.”  
  
“Says a highborn knight himself.”  
  
He shrugged. “I gave up that nonsense as a Knight-Brother of the Holy Balaur. And even we played the letter against the spirit of our oaths for heirs.”  
  
Apollyon chuckled, resting a hand on the pommel of her sword. “So they still do, standing despite how weakened they are.”  
  
“Bah, fine,” he snorted as he gave up. “If you want to humor the Warden’s fantasy, so be it. But I am going with her: someone has to fix the fuck-up she’s creating.”  
  
Apollyon tilted her head, then nodded once. “Do as you wish, but until she falls she has the command.”  
  
He grit his teeth, but bowed his head. “As you wish, master. I will leave Erzebet in charge with the troops I do not need.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
And so he was dismissed with a wave, and Vortiger left the command tent in turn, his two knights acting as Apollyon’s (mostly unneeded) bodyguards bowing their heads to their master as he passed.  
  
_This is child’s play. If she wants to throw her life away, she can,_ Vortiger decided as he made his way towards where his troops were encamped for the siege. If the Warden fell, taken captive like a sheep or killed like a lamb, he would drown House Cargan in their own blood and make bloody art of the boys.  
  
A smile crept across his lips as he considered it: that had potential.  
  
“Ow!”  
  
“Careful with the edge, page!”  
  
“Hah, the kid having trouble Cyril?”  
  
The Lawbringer sitting by a campfire that Vortiger passed simply chuckled at another knight’s remark before turning to instruct his page tending to the poleaxe in question.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
“She didn’t give you an answer, did she?”  
  
“No, my lord.”  
  
Joy watched as Cross nodded to himself, his helmet lying on the table in the center of his command tent and the Lawbringer was getting himself a drink, and had poured out a second goblet as he did so.  
  
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he remarked as he sat down. “She gave you your chance, now make the most of it.”  
  
“And if Lady Ariane refuses?”  
  
“If she refuses after you make the alternative clear, that is on her.”  
  
He pushed one of the goblets across the table, but the Warden did not take it up. “That’s the issue - I need to make a good threat, but I don’t want to wipe them out. Most of the family are children, for God’s sake!”  
  
The Lawbringer nodded once, sitting down in his chair as he gestured for her to sit in the one opposite. “Destroying the keep should be a suitable threat. Even if Easthart wins and reaffirms House Cargan’s claim, they would still have to rebuild it.”  
  
And Joy knew how expensive that was - rebuilding even a hamlet could take a king’s ransom, let alone a fortified keep. Burning it down would leave House Cargan’s members as little more than penniless courtiers… at the cost of denying its use to the Blackstone Legion afterwards.  
  
_Castles can be rebuilt, eventually,_ she told herself as she grabbed the drink left for her. “In that case, can Yarwick spare any of our catapults?”  
  
“I think that can be arranged,” Cross agreed with a brief smile. “Our master wants to practice winter logistics, after all.”  
  
“Perfect. That should make a clear threat, and force a breach in the walls if I need it.”  
  
“And are you ready for another trial by combat?”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
Cross put his wine down, pushing himself to his feet. Joy followed suit as he stepped around the table. “You will be facing House Cargan’s champion in single combat, and they have marriage ties to House Blaumann.”  
  
“You mean that they may call on an in-law for a champion. To bring one of your oathsworn sisters to arms.”  
  
He nodded once. “And are you ready to face such?”  
  
The Warden hesitated - tempting as it was to say ‘yes’, she knew that it would only be technically true. As far as preparation went, she knew all she needed if she had to fight a Lawbringer. As far as _wanting_ to fight one though?  
  
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “but if that’s what it takes to get the prisoners back, I’ll do it.”  
  
“Don’t let your pride blind you,” he warned as he locked his gaze to hers. “If you are not ready to fight such, then back out now, before you head out.”  
  
“But I was already…”  
  
“She put you in charge of this because you spoke up. If you really don’t want to, someone else can do it.”  
  
And Vortiger had been remaining behind as Apollyon told her to leave… _If I stand aside, he takes command, and he will kill anyone in his way no matter their innocence._  
  
Somehow, she felt cornered again. It was like she faced Orobas - and a similar kit, if the Lawbringer was called in - except this time it was not happening from witnessing a wrong being done, it was her own mouth that landed her there.  
  
_This was what I chose to do with my life,_ she decided as she inhaled before answering.  
  
“I’ll do it. Someone has to, and this was my idea. If it goes poorly…” she hesitated as she knew how cavalier it was going to sound, even if it was true. “Well, at least it wouldn’t be the Warborn”  
  
Before anything else could be said, the guard outside the tent interrupted them - or rather, the guard trying to stop an entry did.  
  
“I said wait to be-” then the guard was suddenly pushed aside, Vortiger striding into the tent.  
  
“Vortiger,” Cross growled. “What the hell do you think your doing?”  
  
“Delivering a message. I will be following the contingent attacking House Cargan, to ensure it is done right.”  
  
_In other words, he wants to do a slaughter,_ Joy translated as she kept her hand tight around Dusk’s hilt. “And if I don’t want you? I have the command.”  
  
“So you do,” he admitted as the guard stepped in behind, ignoring the billhook hovering over his shoulder as the guard waited for Cross to give a signal. “At least, until you fall.”  
  
“Then Sir Alberic will have the command afterwards,” Joy countered - technically not yet true, but she was planning on giving him the job of acting as her second in command in case something went wrong.  
  
“We will see, Warden.”  
  
“Enough,” the Lawbringer growled as he strode forward, gesturing for the guard to step aside, “She has the command, and you will obey. And next time, don’t push my guard aside.”  
  
“Or what?” Vortiger demanded as the guard stepped out of the way, looking up as Cross stood over him.  
  
Cross tilted his head, mouth just barely hanging open in disbelief, before he strode towards Vortiger.  
  
What happened next surprised Joy, in part by the sudden display of violence, but more by the speed that the Lawbringer acted with. Cross grabbed Vortiger by his pauldrons and kneed him in the chest, letting go so that Vortiger would stumble backwards. It was not mercy, though: it was to introduce the dark knight’s chest to a plated fist and enough force to stagger him outside.  
  
“Or I will do much worse than that!” the Lawbringer shouted as he stepped forward and out of the tent. Joy followed, coming outside to see those who had watched Vortiger’s forced entry now seeing the Black Prior almost hissing in pain as he held his chest.  
  
The crowd was muttering, a few already reaching to grab their weapons in case a fight happened, but most of the attention was on the Black Prior. Vortiger let go of his chest, rising to his full height despite the lingering pain to sneer.  
  
“I will remember this, Lawbringer.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Still sneering, Vortiger turned away, the crowd of legionnaires and camp followers moving out of his way as he regained his composure to stride away.  
  
And concerning as this was, all Joyeuse could do was worry about the complications it would bring tomorrow. It was also at that point that Joy noticed that snow was falling.  
  
That would be a concern as she made her way between camps to sort out the logistics. Her first stop had been to speak to Yarwick, who was more than happy to lend her the engineers needed for the siege engines and even agreed to set things up for the coming snow. Her second stop was alleviated by a familiar face - Sybilla was sent by Lord Rottdall to inform her of which knights would accompany the strike, her among them.  
  
Which left Stone’s camp. It was far more sober after the events the previous night, and word had spread of what was about to happen. She caught a few snippets of conversation as she made her way towards Stone’s command tent - some were hopeful she’d get their captured comrades back, others wondered if she would also punish her fellow nobles for their deeds in this pointless war.  
  
Then she reached the command tent, where Stone was meeting with his own captains.  
  
“Joy! Good, I was about to send a page,” Stone started as she had stepped in, though he was not smiling. “Sir Alberic is going to command a few of my squads. Harrowgate veterans.”  
  
“Eager to get our men back,” the Lawbringer noted.  
  
“And take vengeance,” Edward added as the black haired knight folded his arms. “We both know that this is letting the Cargans get away with the attack. They killed five of our…”  
  
“She knows,” Stone interrupted.  
  
“He’s not wrong, though,” Joy conceded as she was gestured to take a spot at the map. “If they’re still holding them, it will be as a deterrent. I _pray_ that’s what they’re doing, because the alternative means they’re already dead.”  
  
Stone exhaled. “Yeah, killing a defeated noble knight is just wrong, but who cares about the damn footmen?”  
  
“My lord…” Edward started.  
  
“Bah, ignore it,” he exhaled as he shook his head. “It was probably Easthart’s scheme anyways. We’ll get him for this.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Stone,” Joy offered. “It was the only way I could think of to get them back.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” the Conqueror exhaled as he stared at the map. “Just be careful alright? We both heard the rumors, she might think revenge is more important than her children’s future. I don’t want to lose you to that.”  
  
“Neither do I,” Joy admitted as she felt a chill run up her back - and not because of the draft of wind outside.  
  
XXXXX  
  
Vortiger quickly became the least of the complications come the morning - much as he grumbled, Joyeuse trusted that Alberic would deal with him if she fell, and Noelle (sent by Cross in case she did) to tend to her wounds. But that would wait until later, for now the weather was far more hindering than anything.  
  
Only a few inches of snow had fallen, and snow continued to sprinkle down over the morning. It kept them cold as they stomped through it no matter how easily the powdery snow broke away. Furthermore, it made moving the catapult - and the wagon with ammunition for it - far more of a pain than it needed to be. They had to rig it to sleds, removing the wheels to leave in the wagon, and have two extra draft mules as well as the crew to push it. Even then it was slow going, taking the whole morning to get there rather than half as it would have taken if they only had to march.  
  
“Looks like we’ll have to eat as we wait,” Alberic grumbled as they arrived at House Cargan’s keep - it was as had been reported more of a well fortified manor than a castle. The main stonework was the keep itself, a relatively small structure that nonetheless was two stories tall and a roof suitable to be manned.  
  
“You will,” Joy pointed out as she glanced at him, “I need to go parley, immediately. Don’t have them eat too much, we may need to attack.”  
  
“Oh aye, I’ll tell them.”  
  
Vortiger said nothing, simply watching as Joy urged her horse onwards, stopping by the wagon to grab the white banner for parley so the Cargan longbowmen taking up position on the walls knew she was not attacking. Not yet, anyways.  
  
It was still tense as she rode closer, through the village outside the walls that had been clearly abandoned in haste. The people were safe within the keep… or would be safe, as long as no assault was launched. But passing by an empty tavern with an archery range just visible behind it, Joy could not help but wonder: was it just taking a precaution, or fear of far more drastic retribution?  
  
She could see the longbowmen on the walls, and as she had guessed they were a disciplined retinue, the glint of maille armor visible from the noon sun that cold day and their colors worn over that. The walls themselves that the forty or so men manned were well built timber and earthworks, with lookout towers dotting the perimeter. It would not stop a dedicated assault, but with professional longbowmen and other guardsmen on the walls it would still be a harrowing affair.  
  
“That’s close enough!” shouted a woman as Joy was about twenty meters from the gate, and she brought her horse to a stop.  
  
The Warden looked up, to the lady wearing a thick winter coat and fur cloak, lowering her hood as she spoke up. She was standing above the gate between its two lookout towers, hands resting on the wooden crenelations, a glare fixed on her.  
  
“Lady Ariane Cargan,” the Warden began as she looked up towards the woman and raised her helmet’s visor. “I am Dame Joyeuse Maylis, a Warden in service to the Blackstone Legion. I have come to recover those that your husband’s hired mercenaries took captive.”  
  
“If you truly care about the captives, then withdraw!” she demanded, turning and gesturing to one of the longbowmen next to her. A call went up the tower, and Joy felt her gut tighten as she saw who they pushed towards the edge of the lookout tower.  
  
It was Ashley. The Conqueror lacked her helmet, thus showing the full disfigurement she had endured at Harrowgate, while her Iron Legion tabard torn, and her hands were tied behind her back.  
  
With a thick coil of rope around her neck.  
  
The noose had been tied to the roof covering the lookout tower, but Joy knew that all it would take was a good push to force her over the edge and she would tumble to her death - either from her neck snapping in the drop, or choking as she was suspended over the edge.  
  
“Ashley! Are you alright?!”  
  
“I’m fine, Warden!” the Conqueror answered as she glanced behind her briefly. “Well, other than the noose.”  
  
“Are Henry and Erik alright?”  
  
“They will be,” Ariane cut in as she leaned forward, “as long as you withdraw your force! If the Blackstones dare attack, your precious warriors will hang like the brigands they are!”  
  
“For the record,” Ashley snapped as she looked down, “I was a _conscript_ , not a convict!”  
  
“There’s no need for any of this,” Joy warned as her horse ambled a step forward. “But if you execute any of the prisoners, then you will join them in death!”  
  
“That is a bold promise, Warden. But you can’t assault these walls without losing the prisoners.”  
  
“Maybe not,” she conceded, “but if we assault these walls, then this keep will fall with you! You know that you can only delay us, and we have the artillery to destroy your walls. How long will your longbowmen last against boulders?”  
  
To their credit, the men-at-arms on the walls kept their fear from showing, and none moved to nock their bows in response to the threat. “Steady, men. Respect the parley!” the captain on the walls reiterated anyways.  
  
“You would destroy a valuable fortification, kill those you were sent to rescue, just to spite us for our fealty?!” Ariane glared. “Truly, you are the woman who murdered Sir Robert Chauveret - a Warden in name alone!”  
  
Joy felt her hand tightening around the banner - partially from another connection, but more from the insult. What did this court lady know about war, about how honor could pit two Wardens against each other by their oaths? She of all people should know that there were many oaths at play in governing!  
  
“And now you come to destroy my family, my children, to appease your mistress’ bloodlust?!”  
  
“If we came for bloodlust, we would not be talking!” Joy shouted back, urging the horse a few steps closer. “Sir Robert fell honorably, did the priests not tell you that when he was sent home to rest?! This is war, Lady Ariane!”  
  
“And war will be your grave, and the grave of those you lead to their deaths! Attack the walls if you dare, you will join those you condemn to hang soon enough!”  
  
“Enough of this blustering, Lady!” This was going nowhere - clearly the rumors about a courtly romance were true, but that just meant it was more important than ever to convince her to accept terms. “I came to settle this dispute once and for all, and only one needs to fall!”  
  
“What are you proposing?” Ariane was glaring down at her.  
  
“Trial by Combat,” Joyeuse declared as she met the glare with her own. “Myself against whatever champion your house has, for the freedom of the prisoners.”  
  
“You mean give up the only thing staying your horde of marauders?”  
  
“Oh that’s fucking rich!” Ashley snorted as she looked down again, “What, mocking Erik’s parentage wasn’t enough for your guards?”  
  
“I can still have you hanged!” Ariane snapped back. “No wonder the Iron Legion fell, if it let insolent peasants like yourself speak up!”  
  
“Ashley,” Joy warned as she looked to the Conqueror, “I’ll deal with her.”  
  
The noosed Conqueror shrugged her shoulders, but kept glaring at the lady of the estate as the parley continued.  
  
“If I win,” Joy continued as she locked her gaze with Ariane’s again, “then you and the men here will surrender, to sit out the rest of this conflict and to give no aid to the Ascendant Legion and its allies. In turn, you will be spared and this keep will be unmolested no matter the outcome at Stonerust Castle. If your champion wins, we withdraw and leave House Cargan alone this campaign.”  
  
“So you just go home?” She snorted. “If you want to settle this in Trial by Combat, then you will put your own neck on the block. If my champion wins, then you will become a prisoner of House Cargan, to be justly executed if the Blackstone Legion dares threaten us for our fealty!”  
  
_So, do I want to put my neck on the headsman's block for this?_ A question that rang through Joy’s mind as she looked towards Ashley, already waiting to hang. If she lost, would she just join them - possibly even hanged with them rather than given a dignified death as fit her gentle birth? Was she throwing her life away for, in the end, three replaceable legionnaires?  
  
“So be it!” she answered as she knew her course. “Name your champion, and we will fight here, on the road before the gates.”  
  
“My champion is half a day’s ride from here, and word must be sent,” Ariane decided after a few moments consideration. “Grant my messenger and the champion I invoke safe passage from her family’s estate, and promise that her house shall be spared as she honors her sister’s marriage, and we have terms!”  
  
Joy knew what that meant. “You want a message sent to House Blaumann?”  
  
“Indeed. I name Dame Sara Blaumann as House Cargan’s champion in this dispute, the Lawbringer that will see justice done!”  
  
“And if she does not arrive in time? The day is far shorter than it used to be.”  
  
“Are you afraid, then?”  
  
Joy felt her teeth pressing together, but not wanting to answer that even as she responded. “Send your man, but those I lead will not be sleeping in tents tonight!”  
  
“You intend to force yourself on my subjects’ homes?!”  
  
“If they are fearful, I have a Lawbringer who they can speak to. We only need shelter for the night, as we brought our own supplies. Hospitality goes both ways, Lady Ariane, I should not have to remind a fellow woman of gentle birth about such dignities.”  
  
It was a barb, but it was a needed one with the abuse the lady of the manor had hurled. Joy knew that she was probably furious at the thought, but as the Warden hoped a better sense won out.  
  
“So be it, Warden. But the Lawbringer will come inside to speak to them, under banner of truce and my honor that he will not be struck as long as he adheres to it, and that any of your men that abuse the hospitality will be punished for it!”  
  
“Fine then, do we have terms?” They were suitable enough; Joy wasn’t happy with the delay, but it was going to be needed to save the prisoners.  
  
“We have terms, Warden.”  
  
“Good. Now get that noose away from the Dame’s neck, she deserves far better than that from those she nearly died defending!”  
  
Ariane gave the order to whoever she had told earlier, and soon enough the Conqueror was no longer about to be hanged, even if she was still a captive. Now all that was left to do was see to the arrangements, quarter for the night, and wait for morning.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
_It was a long trial, a grueling one as two heroes of their orders met in battle. Longsword against poleaxe, and the poleaxe had the upper hand. It had been such a stupid mistake, a follow up strike that had been done out of habit after the first blow missed, only to be parried._  
  
_Worse, parried in a way that gave her opponent leverage to knock her sword from her hands._  
  
_Stumbling from the momentum, all she could do was try to swing a desperate punch only to be shoved back not once, not twice, but three times and fell to her knees on the third. She tried to push herself back up, but she couldn’t._  
  
_“You have defended yourself well,” the Lawbringer said as she brought the poleaxe around, raising the weapon so the blade faced her._  
  
_“No!” she cried, trying to hold a helpless hand up only for her plea to be choked by the sharp pain of steel cutting through her neck-_  
  
Waking suddenly, Joy instinctively reached for her neck, only to feel her skin - cool to the touch, but fully intact. Not severed as her nightmare had ended with. Just a nightmare, it wasn’t real. It still felt all too real as she looked around from the bed she was laying in.  
  
She had quartered herself in the tavern, along with many of the other knights. There was a lack of individual rooms, so there was not much privacy, but it was at least better than sleeping with the legionnaires on the ground floor or wherever they could find themselves a roof over their head and be inside walls. The knights had to share the few available beds, of course, but that was just what travel demanded. Joy was sharing hers with Sybilla, while other knights paired up to get the most out of it. It wasn’t comfortable, especially since they left their armor on, but they were on campaign right outside an enemy keep.  
  
Glancing around, Joy’s eyes were drawn to a figure sitting on the floor, staring ahead into the darkness. The spikes on his armor were a dead giveaway - and why he hadn’t been able to get a bed despite nominally being one of the leading knights in the contingent.  
  
And then she noticed that Vortiger had turned his head, and was staring at _her_.  
  
“Trouble sleeping?” he asked with a surprisingly quiet voice.  
  
Joy glared at him, wanting to say nothing, but he kept staring at her in awkward and uncomfortable silence. She was relatively sure that he was grinning at her, but there was little light as the inn’s windows were shuttered.  
  
“Come outside, I want to talk to you.”  
  
She turned over, facing away from him, but even as she did she could feel him staring at her back. Sure, there was nothing to see but armor, but somehow that made it worse.  
  
After another minute or so, and turning enough to see he was still staring, she exhaled and climbed out, carefully as to avoid waking Sybilla.  
  
“Fine,” she muttered quietly, grabbing Dusk and fitting her belt with the sheathed sword back on from where she had left it and threw her cloak over her shoulders. The Black Prior simply rose himself, quietly making his way down without fear of tripping.  
  
It took Joy longer to follow, particularly as she had to step around the legionnaires sleeping in the tavern’s first floor on whatever table, bench, or just near the main fireplace on their bedrolls. They had been surprisingly well behaved given the situation - Joy wrote it off as lowborn recognizing other lowborn just being under another lord - but she still wondered how much cleaning up would need to be done afterwards.  
  
Vortiger was waiting for her outside, a thin grin across his face. “You are having second thoughts, Warden.”  
  
Joy glared at him. “How long were you staring at me?”  
  
“Long enough to see you toss and turn.”  
  
“Make your point.”  
  
A nod of his head towards the center of the village, and they walked on. The men on watch turned their heads to look at the two stepping out, but when they did not approach any of them they remained at their posts and turned their attention back towards making sure none of House Cargan’s men-at-arms did anything stupid.  
  
“There are better ways to do this, you know.”  
  
“You would kill our own men just to level this place. Kill our fellow legionnaires.”  
  
“They are dead anyways, do you seriously believe that they will be released if you defeat a Lawbringer in single combat?”  
  
“Lady Ariane gave her word. She knows the consequences of breaking it.”  
  
“You assume she shares your notions of honor. That her word means anything against the grief you have caused her.”  
  
Joy stopped him, turning and feeling herself scowl. “So what, you would have me launch an attack in the morning?”  
  
“I can order nothing, you are in command,” Vortiger held his hands to the side in mock innocence. “But you do not want to fight the Lawbringer, do you? You do not want to fulfill your end of the bargain when you lose.”  
  
“If.”  
  
He shrugged. “Fine, if you lose. Then you give yourself up and have your head cut off anyways when Apollyon is done humoring your naive fantasy and I make an example of House Cargan.”  
  
Joy raised an eyebrow. “You are making many assumptions, Black Prior.”  
  
“Perhaps, but I know one thing that is not an assumption.” He leaned in closer, so he could whisper the next words into her ear even as she recoiled back. “You are afraid.”  
  
She wanted to immediately answer with a denial, but she knew that was a lie. The nightmare was the uncomfortable truth, what her real feelings about facing a Lawbringer in single combat were, especially one with several years of experience over her.  
  
“So what if I am?” she demanded, hoping to deflect away from the matter. “What does it matter to you?”  
  
“Nothing,” Vortiger admitted as he took a step back, “but you do not have to do this. There is nothing forcing you to go with this charade. You do not have to lay out your pretty neck for the headsman.”  
  
Joy knew better than to think he somehow saw that nightmare, but it still hit far too close for her to avoid wincing or reaching for her neck.  
  
“You know what will happen,” he continued even as he stood still. “You have imagined it, imagined your death.”  
  
“So what, you would have me break my word?” Joy snapped as she quickly moved her hand away. “Take the Lawbringer hostage when she comes out to face us?”  
  
“A novel idea! She is Lord Cargan’s sister-in-law, threaten to kill her if they kill our own, and make an exchange.”  
  
“If they could trust me after that little stunt,” Joy growled as she reached for Dusk and put her hand around the hilt. “I am no oathbreaker, Vortiger.”  
  
“Is it an oath you really want to uphold, if you fail?”  
  
“If.”  
  
“Yes, _if_. If you win it all works out to our advantage, even I can admit that. But if you lose, do you really want to give yourself as a hostage?”  
  
Much as she did not want to admit it, to say anything else was to lie. “No, I do not.”  
  
“See? We can have a truthful conversation. So, why should you?”  
  
“Because I gave my word,” she answered, “and if I break it, why should anyone trust me?”  
  
“I’m sure that will be a comfort to your family. That their beloved sister was keeping her word when she put her neck on the block, that as her head fell into the basket she knew she was dying honorably. That as blood squirted from her severed…”  
  
“Enough!” Joy snapped, loud enough for the sentries to turn and look at what was going on and probably waking someone up.  
  
The man opposite her was undeterred. “So, you would give your life just because you made a promise? Do you know how cavalier that sounds?”  
  
“Only if I do not understand what it means,” the Warden answered as she took a step forward. They were of about equal height, and Joy knew intimidation was pointless, but that did not stop her from staring him down. “You’re right, I’m afraid. I don’t want to die for this.”  
  
To his credit, Vortiger held his ground and did not betray any signs of discomfort as she inched closer.  
  
“But I gave my word. If I only keep it when it suits me, it means nothing. Keeping my word when I do not want to is what sets me apart from the rabble.”  
  
“So you would die for honor?”  
  
Joy felt herself smile faintly. “I am a daughter of House Maylis, Vortiger. Do you know our family’s creed?”  
  
He did not answer, so she continued.  
  
“‘Strike for Honor’, our promise to our allies that we will come when they are threatened. We have died for that, and in turn our allies would die for us in our hour of need.”  
  
“House Cargan is not your ally,” he pointed out.  
  
“No,” she admitted as she took a step back, “but Stone is a close friend. I promised him I would bring his men back. And that is what I intend to do.”  
  
“Then as your head lands in the basket, you can think to yourself that you died trying.”  
  
The two were silent, staring each other down and neither blinking. After several more long and increasingly uncomfortable moments, Vortiger shrugged.  
  
“So be it,” he conceded. “I will withdraw with the rest of the contingent, if Alberic can keep them to your word.”  
  
“He will, because he understands what honor means.”  
  
The Black Prior snorted. “Bah, don’t be so smug. You’re assuming that _I_ will keep my word.”  
  
“Maybe. But if you get the prisoners killed, you will be the one blamed.”  
  
“Maybe I don’t fear Belial’s anger at letting the object of his intrigues be beheaded?”  
  
_We’re just fighting for the last word now,_ Joy realized as she shrugged. “That’s your choice, not mine. Good night.”  
  
With that, she turned and left him there. Perhaps he had something else to say, but he stayed silently brooding where he was as she made her way back inside.  
  
She considered waking Sister Noelle, to see if she had anything for a trouble night’s sleep, but decided against it. Chances are it would just leave her lethargic in the morning, and she needed all her wits as she knew what her path was. Whether she won or loss, she knew what she was going to fight for tomorrow in this pointless conflict.  
  
All that was left to do was wait for the battle. A waiting she finally understood as being the worst part of war, as Sir Lancel had told her too many times.  
  
Why did it take until now for her to be able to appreciate that lesson?  
  
XXXXX  
  
Dawn came late as it always did in winter, but it came with the same inevitability that every day carried. No fresh snow had fallen, but the chill of winter was in the air as everyone roused themselves for what was to come. Even House Cargan’s subjects were milling on the wall, at least where their guards allowed them to.  
  
“Dame Sara is a skilled Lawbringer,” Alberic remarked as the Blackstones waited at the edge of their lines facing the keep. “But she will fight honorably, bombs aside.”  
  
“‘Justice Reigns from Heaven’,” Joy remarked with a faint smile as she glanced at the longbowmen on the walls. “Quite the interpretation of her family’s words.”  
  
Vortiger snorted. “The Holy Balaur would shame her for such practicality.”  
  
“Only if she joined them,” Alberic shot back. “Besides, I doubt she’ll use any here. Grenades are too unreliable for a duel.”  
  
“Avoid those,” Noelle remarked, the surgeon folding her arms. “Otherwise all I can do is stitch you up for burial.”  
  
“I am sure that reassures the beheaded.”  
  
The Warden knew that was directed at her by the Black Prior, but she ignored it. Instead she turned her gaze towards the walls.  
  
Lady Ariane was where she had parlayed from the previous day, and all three of the former Iron Legionnaires were on the walls as well. No nooses this time, but the three guards with them told Joy why rejecting Vortiger was wise. Other courtiers were gathered on the gate to watch, and idle conversation ended as the gates opened.  
  
Joy rose as they did, taking her cloak off and leaving it behind as her opponent stepped out in turn. The Lawbringer did not come out alone, her page following her as the young boy - only ten at most - was carrying his master’s weapon.  
  
As they approached each other about half way, the Warden got her proper look at her opponent. The Lawbringer’s full plate was of polished steel, and while it had a little more curve relative to Cross or Alberic’s harnesses, it was no more than how Joy wore her own armor compared to a man wearing it. Unlike those two, however, this Lawbringer had her breastplate painted blue with black accents, her family’s eagle crest painted onto it in yellow. A yellow matched by her hounskull visor, the pointed tip topped in a yellow color eerily like the beak on a bird of prey, and her cloak trailed behind her.  
  
“Warden,” the Lawbringer began as she bowed her head. “I am Sara of House Blaumann, your opponent today.”  
  
“My name is Joyeuse, of House Maylis,” the Warden answered as she also dipped her head. “I am sorry that it came to this.”  
  
“As am I, I would have liked to meet in better circumstances. Still,” she said as she held her hand out and her page pressed the poleaxe into her hand, “this is what came to pass. I would have this trial go to first blood, but I know better than to think a Warden would yield so easily.”  
  
Despite herself, Joy scoffed with a smile. “And I know you are fighting for family. This does not have to be to the death, though, if either of us would yield beforehand.”  
  
“Until one yields, then!”  
  
Both of them readied themselves. The Lawbringer undid the clasps on her cloak, letting the page catch it and carry it away. The Warden drew Dusk, holding the blade before her to salute her opponent. Sara did likewise with her poleaxe.  
  
“Let Heaven decide who is righteous today!” the Lawbringer declared, both knights entering their guard as the battle began.  
  
And it started with both staring at each other initially, waiting to receive the other’s first move. When none came, Joy was about to move forward as her opponent reached behind-  
  
“Shit!” the Warden cursed as she threw herself to the side, a second later something powdery exploding where she had been a moment before and her ears ringing - she could barely hear shouting in the distance, but as she recovered she was barely able to raise her sword in time to deflect a blow from the poleaxe, forcing the weapon into the dirt. The Lawbringer had tried to stun her with a blinding grenade to end this in one stroke!  
  
But even though the axe end of the weapon was pinned to the ground, the shaft was still free and with a quick stroke the Lawbringer hit the Warden with the other end of the weapon. Joy took it, staggering as it rang against her shoulder and took a few extra steps to regain her guard. She had expected a first move, but a grenade?!  
  
“Well done,” Sara congratulated as she advanced, holding her poleaxe above her head with the butt leading, “I mixed that last night.”  
  
Joy considered a remark about unscrewing her pommel, but decided against it as she struck forward.  
  
The Lawbringer was ready to receive the blow towards her left leg, but Joy feinted and dodged to the side as the butt of the poleaxe went to where her head had been. Moving quickly as she landed on her feet, Joy struck again, a stroke upwards from below that caught the Lawbringer on the side of her other knee.  
  
Which meant that the weapon bit into the metal but did nothing as it deflected against the plate poleyns protecting them, same as the two around Joy’s own knees would have. It still hurt her opponent and surprised her, causing her to do an awkward shuffle to get her leg out of the way, but she got her poleaxe in place in time to block the next attack.  
  
They exchanged another series of blows, either blocking or deflecting the attacks and neither gaining an immediate advantage, both of them backing off to avoid tiring themselves out as the exchange ended.  
  
“Not bad,” Joy remarked as she kept her sword pointed towards her opponent.  
  
“Likewise,” Sara answered as she shifted her poleaxe from above to have the blade facing the Warden’s left. “What brought a Warden to the Blackstone Legion?”  
  
“Trial by Combat,” Joy answered, wondering what the purpose of this was.  
  
“Huh.” A curiosity cast aside as the Lawbringer struck forward, bringing her poleaxe down to try and catch the Warden on the spike.  
  
Joy stopped the blow, catching the weapon between the spike and the blade and tried to use that as leverage. Her opponent had a similar idea, both of their weapons pointing up as the lock continued. Joy felt her teeth grit as she tried to disengage before it tore into the sword’s edges, but the Lawbringer used that to break the lock with a shove.  
  
Taking it because she had no other choice, Joy still managed to stop a follow up strike from the heavy end of the poleaxe and knocked it aside, and even better managed to do it with the flat. Then she saw an opportunity from the deflection, bringing Dusk down towards her opponent’s head.  
  
Against an opponent as armored as a Lawbringer, Joy needed to disorient and daze - she needed room to attack the weak parts of the armor with half-swording. The flat of the blade missed the head, but the blow to the pauldron still shook her opponent, causing her to bend with the blow before she shoved again and pushed Joy back.  
  
The Lawbringer did not relent there, another blow coming forward from the Warden’s right, towards her own shoulder. Joy put her blade in the way, stopping the blow with the flat of the blade and causing the strike to deflect, but she only received another shove for her trouble, and this time she stumbled.  
  
The poleaxe came down again, and as Joy dodged to the right she felt the spike scrape across her arm. Her armor stopped it, but she could still see the tear in the mail and gambeson beneath. No blood, as far as she could tell in the briefest moment she had, but she attacked again and managed to hit the Lawbringer in the back. The blow cut along the back end of the breastplate, but all Joy managed to do was scratch it and put more wear on the edge of her sword.  
  
Still, it was a worthwhile trade as her opponent stumbled forward from it. Capitalizing on it, Joy oriented Dusk so she could use her left hand to grab a bit above the hilt and half-sword the tip into an exposed joint. Her target was the right armpit, and charging forward she managed to shove the tip into the maille protecting it.  
  
While not a deep blow, Sara still hissed from the pain as she whirled around. Dusk was knocked to the side, the Warden with it. And as she came around, Joy saw the hammer end of the poleaxe coming right for her, and too late to evade.  
  
Pain exploded in her head, her sight vanishing in white shock as she took the blow to the jaw, spared only because her lowered visor stopped the wound from punching into her jaw and not being a hard enough blow to snap her neck to the side. She fell, losing her grip on Dusk as she hit the ground on her hands and knees, crying out from the pain as she was able to barely start to see again as the blow passed, though her hearing was little more than a spotty and high-pitched whine.  
  
She saw Dusk ahead, but she also saw two plated boots stepping over, an angel holding a sword engraved on each one. Not too different from how most monumental brasses depicted knights with their weapons, not that she had time to really process the comparison as her opponent said something.  
  
Head still ringing, she barely heard it - it could’ve been a compliment, a taunt, telling her she had defended herself well, but no, Joy knew it was something else. A demand.  
  
_“Surrender!”_  
  
Her mind did not fill it in with the newly met Lawbringer’s voice, though. She heard another’s voice, that of a man who carried himself like one and had stood over her. Perhaps yielding would be the wise thing - there was no guarantee that it would end in her death, Cross knew how much of a fool Vortiger was. But if she didn’t…  
  
_“That’s the problem, I cannot know until I face it.”_  
  
Dusk was close, just close enough. Without thought, she reached for it.  
  
What had happened and what was happening took only several seconds, at most, even if it did not feel that long to those enduring it. It was a blur of steel, a flash of red as steel penetrated steel and flesh, another blow taken by her arm, and with it a harsh tug that left the Warden on her backside when all was finished.  
  
Even with her head ringing from previous strikes, the howl of pain was unmistakable in how wild, how unrestrained, how unladylike it was. It was not taking a hit through armor or exertion. It was injury. Severe injury, at that.  
  
Joy’s senses came back despite her own injury, despite the fact she was still biting back her own pain in desperate and rapid breaths, despite the fact that she felt like she was going to throw up and her hearing came and went. And as they did, she saw Dusk broken at the end, the tip and some more of the blade missing as it had finally been broken by how much Daubeny’s heirloom had been used this past year.  
  
Staring ahead as her breath slowed down, her mind finally caught up to what her body had done.  
  
She had grabbed Dusk before any kind of deathblow could be inflicted, managing to move herself around to shove it in between her opponent’s legs. Not in a martial perversion of marital affairs, but into the inner thigh, where the Lawbringer’s protection was maille rather than solid plate, defense sacrificed for mobility. The Warden had shoved the sword deep enough that it became stuck, and when the Lawbringer swung her poleaxe like a pendulum in a desperate and unthinking attempt to get her away, the Warden was knocked to the side and pulled her sword with it, causing the break at the tip.  
  
Pushing herself to her feet despite the worsening nausea, Joyeuse tried to raise her visor only to find it stuck - damaged with a dent pressing against the bruise growing where she had been hit. So she tore the whole helmet off, letting it fall to her feet as she looked at her opponent.  
  
The Lawbringer had fallen over, losing her footing from the steel in her thigh and the swing to get the Warden away from such a compromising position. By the time Joy had recovered, the heavily armored knight was on her backside, trying to reach around for something to push herself up with.  
  
Joy did not give her the chance, putting a boot on the Lawbringer’s sword arm, the other next to her breastplate on what looked like a dagger on her belt. Pointing her sword’s broken tip at her opponent’s throat, Joy saw the Lawbringer finally regain enough of her senses despite the cascade of blood spilling from her opened thigh.  
  
“I… you…” she gasped, staring through her visor.  
  
“Yield,” Joy insisted, pleaded. “Y-” she stopped to wet her throat. “You don’t have to-”  
  
The Lawbringer’s head fell back, her struggle stopping as she lost consciousness. It only took a moment for the Warden to issue the needed order.  
  
_“Surgeon!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I’m getting more mileage out of Vortiger than I thought I would at this stage, but if I was going to introduce him even if only to address his presence, it’s only right he have something worth doing. Even if it is being a different kind of challenger than Apollyon, and a bit easier to stand up to.
> 
> Also, since I know someone is going to ask about it: yes, female Lawbringer. Honestly, the gender lock would only make sense if for whatever reason the Lawbringers didn’t allow women into their order, but given how egalitarian they are within their own ranks with no real grandmaster or anything, it didn’t fit in my opinion. If you disagree, that’s fine, but either way, I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I just know someone might wonder why I ignored the gender-lock this time.


End file.
